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3C3[)5^!7CrK7

American School, Dept, D>5294,

Drexel Ave. & 58th St., Chicago, III.

Please send free and without the sliehtest ohlUa-
tion 3 Drafting lessons, 36-page book about the
opportunities in Drafting and your Guarantee to
get me a Drafting Job and a Boise.

City State,

Age Ocpupatlon

We have placed machinists, car-
penters, masons, plumbers, rail-
road men, office clerks, farmers
and even laborers in fine Draft-
ing Jobs under this plan. Mail
coupon for details of our re-
markable offer.

and We^ll Back Them With This

GUARANTEE ofaDRAFTING JOB

“Only one other man and I,
of six taking California
State Board examination for
Archlteet passed. Then I
realized the thorough and
practical training given by
American School. In 18
months I have gone from
tracer to Chief Draftsman,
in charge of all architec-
tural and engineering work
in one of the oldest offices
here.” R. L. WARBKN,
Los Angeles, Calif.

“When I started American
School training in the
Spring of 1915 I was work-
ing 14 hours a night, seven
nights a week for $1.83 a
night. That Fall I got a
jolt in the Engineering
Dept, of a large firm near
here. Today I work 5^^
days a week and my salary
is larger than I ever
dreamed of when I began
that course in Mechanical
Drafting.” B. H. SEA-
YEBNS, South Bend. Ind.

We are looking for more ambi-
tious young fellows with fac-
tory, building-trade or any
other kind of mechanical ex-
perience to prepare for and help place in well-paid Drafting
positions. Such men, we find, are unusually successful as
Draftsmen, because they know how things are done, and that’s
a priceless asset to the man who makes the blueprint plans.
For there’s a great deal more to Drafting than ‘’mechanical
drawing” and reading blueprints. The real jobs, those paying
$50 to $100 a week, give you a chance to cash in on your entire
past mechanical experience. Get in touch with me and I’ll
tell you how.

Drafting is Logically Your Next Move!

Of course you realize the biggest handicap to mechanical work
is that you’re limited in earning capacity to the output of your
two hands, as long as you live. Even the skilled mechanic
earning $50 to $60 a week has reached his limit. He can never
earn more and when he gets old he will earn less. So 1 don’t
blame any man for wanting to get away from his futureless
outlook. For wanting to get into something where he can use
his head as well as his hands — where he will be paid for what

he knows, instead of only for what he does You know

enough about blueprints to understand that PLANS govern
every move in factory and construction job. The Draftsman
who makes them is several jumps ahead of the workman who
follows them. And so I want you to know that DRAFTING
is a logical, natural PROMOTION from mechanical and building
work — better-paid, more interesting — just the kind of work
you’d enjoy doing.

Get My NO-RISK Plan

The way to a fine Drafting job for you — is easier than you think. It takes
111 ) “artistic talent” or advanced education. Thousands of men no smarter
than you, with no more education or ability have learned It auickly and
you can, too. With the co-operation of some of the biggest employers
and engineers in the U. S. we have worked out a plan to prepare you for
Drafting work in your spare time at home — to actually place you in a fine
position and to raise your pay. Backed by the guarantee shown above to
refund the small cost, if we fail. Mail the coupon and I’ll be glad to
tell you all about this life-time chance to get into Drafting.

THE AMERICAN SCHOOL

Dept. D-5294, Drexel Ave. and 58th St., Chicago, 111.

and RAISE!

3 DRAFTING LESSONS
ACTUALLY FREE

To Show You How Interesting and Simple
Drafting Is . . .

I wish I had the room here to tell you all about
DRAFTING — how it has become the most impor-
tant branch of every kind of manufacturing and
construction work — how fa.sclnating the work is —
what a fine bunch of fellows Draftsmen are, the
big salaries paid— how while Drafting is white-
collar office work, it is closely hooked-up with
big projects and big men. All that takes a 36-
page book to tell and I'll be glad to send it to
you free, and in addition I want to send you the
first three lessons of our home-training so you can
see how you’ll like the work and how simple It is
to learn. Coupon brings everything — mail it
right away.

MEN WHO WORK

with their HANDS . . .

Make the Best Draftsmen

May, 192g

AMAZING STORIES

— S/?/ FELLOWS -
kiss' fL ECTRIC IT Y

pvit. M>A ^Mmum

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CoHRES'Por^JJBhfC e* ^ 7 * ^Y

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Vo^ Xt£££j^. ^'Syijei^

FILL OyT- MAIL TODAY/

I H. e. LEWIS, President

I COYNE ELECYRICAl SCHOOL, Dept. 59-27,

! 500 So, Paulina Street, Chicago, 111,

z DearMr.Lewis: Withoutobli^alnonsendnieyourbierfreecatalosr

I BndaUdetailBofFreeEmpIoymentService. Aviation, BadioandAuto-
■ motive Electrical Courses that are included and how many "earn
* ivbiIeleamiDg."Iundorstandlwillnotbebotheredbyanysalesirun

i Narne

I Address

I City State

Please se-^ you fCfW it in ‘AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929
Vol. 4, No. 2

EDITORtAL & GENERAL OFFICES: 230 Fifth Ave.. New Y«rk City

Published by Experimenter Publi|^inK Company, Inc.

Publishers of SCIENCE & INVENTION, RADIO NEWS,

RADIO LISTENERS' GUIDE. AMAZING
STORIES OUARTERLY. YOUR BODY

Owners of Broadcast Station WRBT

In Our May Issue:

The' English at the North Pole

(A Serial in 2 parts) Part I

By Jules Verne

104

The Gas- Weed

138

The Moon Strollers

By J. Rogers Ullrich

146

The Diabolical Drug

By Clare Winger Plarris

156

The Posterity Fund

162

The Invisible Finite

By Robert A. Wait

172

Our Cover

this month depicts a scene from the story entitled, “The
Moon Strollers,” by J. Rogers Ullrich, in which two of
the scientists who had gone to the moon, while on an
exploration expedition, become aware of the very low
gravitational attraction, because they experience such
complete ease in climbing to the top of the beacon, despite
their heavy strollers, which on earth would have made
even ordinary walking extremely difficult.

“The English at the North Pole,” by Jules Verne, copy-
right 1911 by Vincent Parke & Co. (Parke, Austin &
Lipscomb Co.)

In Our Next Issue:

RADIO TELESCOPE, by Stanton A. Coblentz.
Television seems to have been taken off the board,
for a while, but there is no question as to the possi-
bilities of radio and television in the future. With
characteristic imaginative foresight, the author of
■‘The Sunken World” gives us, in concentrated
form, an extremely well written story full of plaus-
ible science.

THE MONGOLIANS* RAY, by Volney G. Mathi-
son. Here is a capital scientifiction storry, that
would have done O. Henry honor for its rare sur-
prise ending. It contains good science, excellent
fiction, suspense and adventure and makes thor-
oughly interesting reading.

FINGERS OF THE MIST, by Peter Brough.
Synthetic life is no novelty in the laboratory.
Scientists claim to have come pretty close to the
secret of life, although only microscopic living
beings seem thus far to have been produced. Dr.
Loeb, one of the pioneers in this field, has accom-
plished a good deal in his experiments with syn-
thetic life. This story, based on accepted scientific
theories, is excellently written and is of absorbing
interest, and contains much food for thought.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE, by
Jules Verne. (A Serial in 2 Parts) Part II.
Though the story thus far was unusually well writ-
ten, even for the father of scientifiction, it traveled
over more or less familiar territory. Now that the
expeditionists have reached 78® N.L., the excite-
ment and adventure start and we learn a great
deal about the territory in the neighborhood of
the North Pole — much of it, proven fact. Both
the story and scientific interests are fully sustained
in the concluding chapters of this story.

And others.

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AMAZING STORIES Monthly. Entered as second class matter March 10,
1926, by the Post Office at New York, N. Y.. under the act of March 3,
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New York Omee: 624 Grayhar Bni.df„r“''“^ Repreaentattves = Rhodes A Le.se^^^g^ 0«ce: 302 North Michigan Avonno

May, 1929

AMAZING STOKIES

Mail This FRECCOUPONTodoy

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Tour Money Back It Not Satisfied

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J. £. SMITH, President

Dept. 9-RT

National Radio Institute
Washington, D. G.

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Originators ofRadio Home Study Training

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SpPt- 9-RT. National Radio Institute

Washington, D. C.

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SamcT

Address

State

Occuvetion

Please say you saw if in AMAZING STORIES

100

AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

E.H. SCOTT

Designer of receiv-
ers holding practi-
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records.

and a policy of distri-
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purchaser’s complete sat-

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ime precision instrument

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Self-contained power supply inA,C,Model

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scon

Please say you saw it in AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

101

Record R 4 d

(iNmMMoJek

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the professional set build-

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er’s profits

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Please say you saw it in AMAZING STORIES

102

AMAZING STORIES

May, 192‘;

Manouny

Radio

Home

Steps light out thru
powerful local Chicago
stations,'*-and finds
Birminghain, Alabama

^ith

New Radio Immtion

J Sho' was Happyf^i^s Mammy Jo

M ammy jo was waiting up for us — her eyes rolling with
excitement. She had been lonesome all day, she said. Even
with her two small charges, and the radio for company, she
was blue — just pining for a voice from home. We knew she used to
try, time and again, to pick up broadcasts from Southern Stations,
but without any success. However, that was not surprising; strong
local stations had always
smothered out distant ones
on my radio.

“I think that Radio’s gone
crazy,” now cried Mammy
joyfully. “I just thought I’d
find me some peppiah music
to cheah me up, so I starts
foolin’ with the dials. Nex
thing I knows, the announcah
man says I’s listenin’ to Sta-
tion WAPI, at Bummin’ham,

Alabama — and thah I was,
down in my Own Home
Town! I listens to that sta-
tion fo’ a long time, and I
sho’ was happy. Dey ain’t
got music like dat up heah.

No SUH! I sho’ does think dat thing has gone crazy.

Ground Wave Reception

“No it hasn’t Mammy,” I laughed. “You’ve just been
getting Ground Wave Reception with, my new antenna,
Subwave-Aerial. Until yesterday, I had my antenna up
on the roof. That’s why air noises and all the big pow-
erful broadcasting stations we have around here in
Chicago kept out-of-town stations away. Don’t you
remember, Mammy, you asked me yesterday why I was
digging a hole in the ground under this window — and I
told you I was digging up a new radio?”

“Yes Suh,” grinned Mammy. “But does you all mean
to say dat aerial business got me my home town?”

“That’s right Mammy,” I assured her. “You know it’s

Please s

the aerial that picks up radio waves and brings them to the set.
When the aerial is in the ground, it’s protected from a lot of
Interference. From now on you can probably go back to Alabama
every night.”

Reduces Static — Gets Clearer, Sweeter Tone

That was explanation enough for Mammy Jo. But when I told my
friends about my amazing new underground aerial — how it reduces
noise, gets clearer reception on both near and far stations, better
selectivity too, and much finer tone — and that it didn’t cost me a cent
more than an ordinary aerial — and is guaranteed for 25 years —
every one of them wanted to know all about it and try out a
Subwave-Aerial.

Subwave-Aerial Recommended
by Licensed Radio Operator

“After thoroughly testing your Un-
derground Antenna I find that it gives
entirely satisfactory results.

I would recommend it in
place of inside aerials, roof
aerials or loop aerials, for
reasons of clearer reception,
reduced pick-up of outside
interference and static, easy
and convenient installation
and it is non-directional.
and it is non-directional.”

Wm. Stringfellow.

(.Reprinted by permission of
Mr. StringfcUo^v)

YOU can test Subwave- Aerial FREE

When Subwave-Aerial can get results such as illus-
trated by the story above why let noise and interference
keep you from getting distance on your radio?

Now you are given the opportunity to try out this wonderful
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UNDERGROUND AERIAL PRODUCTS
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St. Clair and Erie Streets Chicago, III.

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Suite 618, St. Clair Bldg.. Dept. 827-G.W.,
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Address

City State..

ay you saw it in AMAZING STORIES

VOLUME

liifliMj

THE
MAGAZINE
OF

SGIENTIFIGTION

MAY, 1929
No. 2

ARTHUR H. LYNCH, Editor-in-Chief

DR. T. O’CONOR SLOANE, Pli.D., Associate Editor MIRIAM BOURNE, Associate Editor

C. A. BRANDT, Literary Editor

Editorial and Genera! Offices: 230 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y.

Extravagant Fiction Today

Cold Fact T o-morrow

“AMAZING STORIES”

By T. O’CONOR SLOANE, Ph.D.

Stories is now entering its fourth year,
attained wide appreciation, and has a large
)f readers, who are its friends in the truest
It is a completely new idea, and in the
s world, new ideas are recognized as very
dangerous. Amazing Stories, however, won
success from the start. To use an expression which has become
a colloquialism, it is something different. The basic idea of
the magazine was the publication of fiction, founded on, or
embodying always some touch of natural science.

The first issue appeared in April, 1926, and contained nothing
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103

^«ENGLISH«»^ NORTH POLE

'by Jules Verne

Author of: “Off on a Comet,” “A Trip to the Center of the Earth,” etc.

CHAPTER I
The “Forward”

|0-M0RR0W, at ebb tide, the brig Forward
I will sail from the New Prince’s Docks, cap-
tain K. Z. ; chief officer, Richard Shandon ;
destination unknown.”

Such was the announcement which ap-
peared in the Liverpool Herald of April 5, 1860.

The departure of a brig is not a very important
event for one of the largest trading ports in England.
Indeed, who would notice it among the crowd of ships,
of every tonnage and every nation, which the long
miles of floating docks can scarcely contain; and yet
from an early hour on the morning of April 9th, num-
bers of people began to assemble on the wharf. The
whole maritime population of Liverpool seemed to
agree to congregate there, and not only the sailors, but
all classes, came flocking thither. The dock laborers
left their work, the city clerks their dingy counting-
houses, and the shopkeepers their deserted shops. Om-
nibus after omnibus set down its load of passengers
outside the dock walls, till the entire city appeared to
have turned out to see the Forward sail.

The Forward was a brig of 170 tons, fitted up with
a screw propeller and an engine of 120-horse-power.
She might easily have been confounded with other
brigs in port by the ordinary onlooker, and yet to the
practiced eye of a sailor there were certain peculiarities
about her which made her
unmistakable, as appeared ' -■
from the conversation of a
group of men assembled on
the deck of the Nautilus, a
vessel lying close by. They
were eagerly discussing the
probable destination of the
Forward, and each one had

his own conjecture.

“What do you think of
her masts?” said one. “It
certainly ain’t usual for —
steamships to have such
large sails.”

“Depend upon it,” said a broad, red-faced quarter-
master, “that yon craft reckons more on her masts
than her engine. She hasn’t all that topsail for nothing.
To me it is clear enough the Forward is bound for the
Arctic or Antarctic Seas, where great ice mountains
shut out the wind rather more than suits a strong,
brave ship.”

"DEC A USE of his very accurate description, it seems hard
■LJ to believe that Jules Verne did not personally visit the
polar regions and himself endure the hardships and enjoy
the adventures with the characters of his stories. His de-
scriptions of advance scientific machinery and ideas, are no
less realistic. He tells us, in his story, about the regions
through which a number of “North Pole Expeditions” had
passed and hoped to pass; he tells about the formation of
icebergs and about the movement of ice — all of which can
be checked tip as to accuracy. But he does not forget the
human interest in this story — which enhances it considerably.

“You must be right. Master Cornhill,” said a third
sailor ; “and have you noticed the bow, what a straight
line it makes to the sea?”

"Ay! and more than that, it is sheathed with cast-
steel as sharp as a razor, which would cut a three-decker
in two if the Forward fell foul of it bow-on at full
speed,” replied Cornhill.

“That it would,” added a Mersey pilot, "for she
can make fourteen knots an hour easily with her screw.
It was wonderful to see how she cut through the water
on her trial trip. Take my word for it, she’s a good
runner, and no mistake.”

“Besides,” said “Cornhill, “do you see the size of the
stem-post?”

“Yes; but what does that prove?”

"That proves, my boys,” said Cornhill, in a disdain-
ful, self-satisfied manner, “that you can neither see nor
think; that proves that it was a great matter to give
full play to the rudder, a very necessary thing in the
frozen seas of the north.”

“Right, right,” said the sailors.

“And, what’s more,” continued one of them, “the
loading of the ship confirms your opinion. I had it
from Clifton, who is one of her men, that she is taking
provisions for five years, and coal too. That is all the
cargo ; nothing but coal and provisions, and great bales
of woolen clothing and seal-skins.”

“That settles it, of course,” replied Cornhill. “But
you say you know Clifton —

■ - ■ - hasn’t he told you where

they are going ?”

“He doesn’t know him-
self ; he is in perfect ig-
norance. All the crew have
been engaged like that.
Where he’s going, he’ll
hardly know himself before
he’s there.”

“It looks to me very
much as if they were all
going to Old Nick,” said an

incredulous listener.

“And did you ever hear of such wages?” continued
Clifton’s friend. “Five times more than the common
pay! Ay, if it hadn’t been for that, Dick Shandon
wouldn’t have found a man to sign the articles. To
make a voyage in such a queer-looking ship, bound for
nobody knows where, and coming back nobody knows
when — I must confess it w'ouldn’t suit me.”

“It doesn’t matter much whether it would or not.

104

A strange looking animal with smoking tongue hanging out of his enormous wide open jaws was bounding towards the ship.
. . . He seemed more than twenty feet high. His hair stood on end and his formidable tail swept the snow and sent it flying in
thick clouds. He was evidently in pursuit ofl the sailors. The apparition of such a monster was enough to scare the bravest.

105

106

AMAZING STORIES

old fellow, for you couldn’t go; they wouldn’t have
you on board the Forward,” said Cornhill.

“Pray, why not?’’

“Because you can’t meet one of the conditions re-
quired. I am told that all married men are ineligible,
so you are shut out.”

“There’s so much bounce about the brig altogether,”
Cornhill went on, “even down to the very name, the
Forward. Forward where to? And then there is no
captain !”

“Yes, there is,” said a frank, boyish-looking young
sailor.

“■f TTHAT! a captain has turned up?”

W “Yes, a captain.”

“You are fancying, youngster, that Shandon is the
captain,” said Cornhill.

“But I tell you,” returned the lad, “that — ”

“And I tell you,” interrupted Cornhill, “that Shandon
is the mate and nothing more. He is a brave hardy
sailor, an old hand in whaling expeditions, and a thor-
ough good fellow, quite fit to be captain, but captain
he is not, any more than you or I. He doesn’t even
know who is to take the command. At the right time
the real captain is to make his appearance, but when
that is to be, or in what part of the world, no one
knows, for Shandon has not said, nor is he allowed to
reveal the ship’s destination.”

“All that may be. Master Cornhill,” replied the young
sailor, “but I assure you that at this very moment
there is someone on board, someone whose arrival was
announced in the very letter which contained the offer
to Mr. Shandon of chief officer’s berth !”

“What 1” retorted Cornhill, frowning angrily at the
audacious youngster. “Do you dare to stand out that
there is a captain on board?”

“Yes, certainly. Master Cornhill.”

“You say that to my face!”

“Of course I do; I had it from Johnson, one of the
officers on board.”

“From Mr. Johnson?”

“Yes, he told me himself.”

“Johnson told you, did he?”

“He not only told me, but showed me the captain.”

“Showed you the captain !” repeated Cornhill in blank
amaze.

“Yes! he showed me the captain.”

“And you really saw him?”

“Yes! with my own eyes.”

“And who is it, pray?”

“It is a dog.”

“A dog?”

“A dog with four feet?”

“Yes !”

The sailors of the Nautilus seemed stupefied. Under
any other circumstances, such a declaration would have
provoked shouts of laughter. The idea of a dog being
captain of a brig of 170 tons! It was too ludicrous.
But there was something altogether so extraordinary
about this Forward that one need think twice before
denying or even ridiculing the boy’s assertion, and in-

stead of laughing, Cornhill said with great gravity:

“So it was Johnson who introduced you to this novel
sort of a captain, and you actually saw him?”

“As plain as I see you.”

“Well, Cornhill, what do you think of that?” asked
the sailors, eagerly.

“I think nothing,” replied Cornhill, roughly, “except
that the Forward either belongs to the devil, or to some
fool let loose from Bedlam!”

The crew continued silently gazing at the wonderful
brig, watching the final preparations for departure, but
not one among them dared to say, or even so much as
pretended to believe, that Johnson had been only making
a fool of the boy, and imposing on his credulity.

The story of the dog had already got abroad, and
more than one among the crowds that thronged the
quays sought to catch a glimpse of this dog-captain,
half-believing him supernatural.

Besides, for many months past the Forward had
been attracting public attention. The peculiarities about
her build, the mystery hanging over her, the incognito
preserved by the captain, the strange way in which
Shandon had received his appointment, the special care
taken in selecting the crew, and the unknown destina-
tion — all combined to invest her with a singular charm
of romance.

The Forward had been constructed at Birkenhead
by Messrs. Scott & Co., one of the most famous ship-
builders in England. The firm had received from
Richard Shandon a minute plan, detailing every particu-
lar as to tonnage and dimensions, and also a sketch
drawn with the greatest care, and evidently the pro-
duction of a practiced seaman. As considerable sums
were forthcoming, the work was commenced at once,
and proceeded with as rapidly as possible.

The brig was characterized by the utmost solidity.
She was evidently intended to resist enormous pressure,
for the frame was not only made of teak-wood — a sort
of tree which grows in India, and is remarkable for
its extreme strength — but was firmly bound together
by strong iron ties. It was indeed a matter of surprise
among the seafaring population that frequented the
building yard, why the entire hull was not iron plate
like that of most steamers, and many inquiries were
put to the shipwrights, but all the answer received was
that they were obeying orders.

By slow degrees the brig began to take shape on the
stocks, and connoisseurs were struck by the elegance
and power of her proportions. As the crew of the
Nautilus had remarked, the stem made a right angle
with the keel. It had no figure head, but was a sharp
edge of cast steel made in the foundries of R. Haw-
thorn, at Newcastle. This metal, glittering in the
sun, gave a peculiar look to the ship, though there was
nothing absolutely warlike about it. However, there
was a cannon of 16 lbs. calibre mounted on the fore-
castle, on a pivot, to allow of its being easily pointed
in all directions; and yet, in spite of both stem and
cannon, the vessel was not the least like a ship intended
for battle.

On the Sth of February the Forzmrd was ready, and

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

107

had a successful launch in the presence of an immense
crowd of spectators.

The day after the launch, the engine arrived from
Newcastle, from the works of Messrs. Hawthorn. This
engine, of 120-horsepower, and provided with oscil-
lating cylinders, was of considerable size for a brig of
170 tons, but did not take up much room. As soon as
it was placed on board, the work of provisioning began,
and no easy matter it was to stow away food for six
years. The stores consisted principally of salted and
smoked meat, dried fish, biscuit and flour; mountains
of coffee and tea were thrown into the hold in a perfect
avalanche. Richard Shandon superintended personally
the storage of this precious cargo, arranging it like a
man who understood his business. Everything was
numbered and labeled and disposed in the most orderly
manner. A large quantity of pemraican was also taken
on board, an Indian preparation, which contains much
nourishment in small bulk.

The nature of the provisions left no doubt as to
the length of the cruise ; and to an observing eye, there
was none as to the ship’s destination, at the sight of
those barrels of lime-juice, and lumps of chalk, and
packets of mustard, and sorrel, and cochlearia seed; in
other words, the abundance of anti-scorbutic prepara-
tions proved that the Forward was bound for the Polar
Seas. Shandon had no doubt received special orders
about this part of the cargo, for he paid studious atten-
tion to it, and also fitted up the medicine chest with
the most scrupulous care.

The stock of firearms was not great, a reassuring
fact to timid people, but on the other hand, the powder-
magazine was full to overflowing. What was it in-
tended for? There was far more than one solitary
cannon could possibly use. Then there were also
enormous saws, and other implements, such as levers,
hand-saws, bags of bullets, heavy hatchets, not to speak
of a goodly number of blasting cylinders, the explosion
of which would have blown the Custom House at
Liverpool into the air. It was all very strange, if not
alarming, even without taking into account the fuses,
and signals, and fireworks of all descriptions.

The boats too were objects of great curiosity to the
gaping crowd that hung about the New Prince’s Docks.
There was a canoe made of tinned iron, covered with
gutta-percha, a long mahogany whaling-boat, and a
number of halkett-boats or india-rubber cloaks, which
could be converted into canoes by inflating the lining.

The Forward was certainly altogether a most mys-
terious, puzzling vessel, and people grew quite excited
about her, now that the hour for sailing had come.

CHAPTER 11

The Unexpected Letter

E ight months prior to the time when our story
commences, Richard Shandon had received the
following letter:

“Aberdeen, Aug. 2nd, 1859.
“Sir — This letter is to inform you that a sum o|

£16,0CX) Sterling has been placed in the hands of
Messrs. Marcuart & Co., bankers, Liverpool. I also
enclose checks signed by me, which you can draw on
the said bankers up to the above-mentioned amount.

“You do not know me. It matters not. I know
you. That is the most important thing.

“I offer you the place of chief officer on board the
brig Forward, bound for an expedition which may be
long and perilous.

“If you refuse, that is all about it; if you accept,
your salary will be £500, to be raised one-tenth each
year you are away.

“The brig Forward has at present no existence. You
will have to get her built, and ready to go to sea by the
beginning of April at the latest. That, I am convinced
will be easily possible.

“I subjoin a detailed plan and a draft, to which you
will scrupulously adhere. The ship is to be constructed
by Messrs. Scott & Co., who will arrange matters.

“I beg you will pay special attention to the selection
of the crew of the Forward. This will consist of the
captain, myself, the chief officer, yourself, a second
mate, a boatswain, two engineers, an ice-master, eight
sailors, and two stokers — eighteen men altogether, in-
cluding Dr. Clawbonny, of your city, who will carry
the proper credentials and will introduce himself to
you at the right time.

“It is necessary that all the men chosen for the ex-
pedition of the Forward shall be English, unencum-
bered by family ties, unmarried, sober, as neither beer
nor spirits are allowed on board, and ready for any
enterprise and any suffering.

Give the preference to those of sanguine tempera-
ment, who possess a great amount of animal heat. That
is very important.

“You will offer them five times as much as the ordi-
nary wages, with an increase of one-tenth each year
of service. At the close of the expedition £500 is
guaranteed to each man and £2,000 to yourself. These
deposits will be left with Messrs. Marcuart & Co., the
aforesaid bankers and will be handed over to them on
their return.

“The campaign will be long and arduous, but honor-
able. You need have no hesitation about it.

“Reply to me by letter, addressed to K. Z., Paste
restante, Gotteborg, Sweden.

“K. Z., Captain of the Forward.

“P. S. — On the 15th of February next you will be
forwarded a large Danish stag-hound with loose hang-
ing lips, very dark in color, and striped with black.
You will take him on board, and order him to be fed
with barley bread mixed with boiled greaves.* You
will notify his safe arrival to me at Leghorn, Italy,
addressed to the same initials.

“The captain of the Forimrd will present himself,
and make himself known when he is required. You
will receive further instructions just before you sail.

“K. Z.

“To Mr. Richard Shandon, Liverpool.”

^ The sediment of melted tallow.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

111

in the center, and every accommodation, for the sailors
were treated as precious Cargo on this vessel, and well
provided for.

Dr. Clawbonny looked after himself, and he had
had plenty of time, as he had taken possession of his
cabin since the 5th of February, the day the Forward
was launched.

“The happiest of the animals,” he said, “would be
a snail, who could make a shell to his own liking, and
I mean to be an intelligent snail.”

And truly his shell did him credit, for the Doctor
took a perfect delight in arranging his scientific treas-
ures. His books, and herbals, and cases, and mathe-
matical instruments; his thermometer, and barometer,
and hygrometers, and udometers* ; his glasses, and com-
passes, and sextant ; and maps and charts ; and phials,
and powders, and medicine-bottles — all were arranged
and classified with an amount of order that might
have shamed the British Museum. Inestimable riches
were stored up in that small space of six feet square,
and it must be owned the good Doctor was not a little
proud of his sanctum, though three of his least corpu-
lent friends would have sufficed to crowd it uncom-
fortably.

To complete the description of the Fonmrd it need
only further be said that the dog’s-kennel was built
right below the window of the mysterious cabin, but
its savage inmate preferred wandering between decks
and in the hold. It seemed impossible to make him
sociable, nobody could do anything with him, and in
the night his piteous howls would resound through the
whole vessel.

What was the reason? Could it be grief for his
absent master? or was it instinctive fear of the voyage?
or did it bode approaching danger? This last was the
common opinion among the sailors, and many a one
joked over it, who verily believed the poor dog was an
imp of the devil.

Pen, a coarse brutal fellow at all times, rushed so
furiously at the beast one day that he fell right against
the capstan, and split his head open frightfully. Of
course this accident was laid to the “uncanny dog’s
account.”

Clifton was the most superstitious of all the crew,
and he made the singular discovery, that, whenever
the animal was promenading the deck, he went to the
side the wind was, changing his position as the ship
tacked, just as if he had been the captain.

Dr. Clawbonny was so gentle and winning that he
would have tamed a tiger, but all his attempts to get
into this dog’s good graces were in vain.

Besides, the animal would answer to none of the
names borne by his canine brethren, so in the end he
got called “Captain,” for he appeared perfectly familiar
with ship life. This was certainly not his first voyage,
and more than one of the sailors fully expected to see
him some day suddenly assume the human form, and
begin giving orders in a stentorian voice.

Richard Shandon had no apprehensions on that score,
though he had anxieties enough of another nature, and
the night before sailing he had a long confidential talk

on the subject with the Doctor and his two officers.

The four sat comfortably together in the saloon in-
dulging themselves with a glass of grog — a farewell
glass, for, in accordance with the instructions received
from Aberdeen, every man on board, from the captain
down to the stoker, must be a total abstainer; that is
to say, neither wine, nor beer, nor spirits would be
allowed on board, except in case of illness, or when
ordered by the doctor.

For more than an hour they had been talking over
the departure of the ship next day, for if the captain’s
words, were verified, the morning would bring a letter
containing final instructions.

“I 'hope,” said Shandon, “that if this letter doesn’t
give us the name of the captain, it will tell us at least
the destination of the ship, or how shall we know which
way to steer?”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed the impatient doctor,
“were I in your place I should be off even if no letter
came; it will find its way to us by hook or by crook.
I’ll warrant.”

“You stick at nothing. Doctor. But pray, how should
we direct our course then?”

“Towards the North Pole, most assuredly. That’s
a matter of course ; it doesn’t admit of a doubt.”

“Not admit of a doubt!” said Wall; “and why not
towards the South Pole?”

“The South Pole! Never! Would the captain ever
dream of exposing a brig to all the difficulties of cross-
ing the broad Atlantic?” said the Doctor.

“You say go to the North,” continued Shandon, “but
that’s a wide word. Is it to be to Spitzbergen, or
Greenland, or Labrador, or Hudson’s Bay? It is true
enough that all these routes lead to the same impassable
fields of ice; but that doesn’t remove the necessity of
choosing one or the other, and I should be greatly puz-
zled to decide upon which. Can you help me. Doctor ?”

“No,” replied the loquacious little man, vexed at
having no answer ready. “But the question is just
this, if you don’t get a letter, what will you do?”

“I shall do nothing; I shall wait.”

“You won’t sail!” cried Clawbonny, aghast at the
possibility.

“No, not I.”

“That’s the wisest way,” said Johnson, quickly, while
the Doctor rose, and begcln pacing the floor, for he
was too agitated to sit still. “Yes, that’s the wisest
way, and yet too great delay might be attended with
bad consequences. In the first place, this is a good
time of the year; and if north it is to be, we ought
to take advantage of the breaking up of the ice to get
past Davis Strait. Then, again, the men are getting
more restless every day; their friends and old ship-
mates are constantly urging them to leave the Forzvard;
and if we wait much longer we may find ourselves in
a pretty fix.”

“That’s quite true,” added James Wall ; “and if once
a panic got amongst the crew, they would desert to
a man, and I very much doubt if you would succeed
in getting fresh hands.”

“But what’s to be done, then?” asked Shandon.

*Rain gauges.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

109

leave it! We have no time to dilly-dally along.”

Sometimes he would add, “My only difficulty is
which to choose, for such high wages as you are of-
fered, will find plenty to jump at them. Not a man
among you ever heard of such pay being given before.”

“Well, it certainly is a great temptation; we should
get enough to live on all the rest of our days,” said
the sailors.

“I don’t conceal from you,” continued Johnson, “that
the expedition will be a long one, and full of hardship
and danger. That is formally told us in our instruc-
tions, so let us have a clear understanding, that each
man may know what he undertakes; he commits him-
self, in all probability, to attempt all that is, humanly
speaking, possible, and perhaps even more. If you
haven’t a brave heart, then, and an iron constitution,
or if you can’t look the certainty in the face that there
are twenty chances to one against your ever returning,
you had better be off, and leave the berth for somebody
less chicken-hearted.”

“But at least tell us who the captain is,” was the
rejoinder.

“The captain is Richard Shandon, till he introduces
you another.”

Now, to speak the truth, Richard thought this him-
self, and quietly indulged the hope that, at the last
moment, he would receive definite instructions about
the voyage; and have entire command placed in his
hands.

Shandon and Johnson had implicity obeyed the in-
junctions given for choosing the crew. They were all
fresh and florid looking, full of energy and pluck, and
having caloric enough in them to heat the boiler almost ;
in fact, the very men to stand extreme cold. In out-
ward appearance, certainly, they were not all equally
strong; and two or three among them, especially two
sailors called Gripper and Garry, and Simpson the har-
pooner, Shandon almost hesitated to take, for they
belonged to “Pharaoh’s lean kine,” but they were well-
built, and their circulation was good, so their names
were entered.

The whole crew were Protestants, belonging to the
same religious denomination. It was a matter of some
importance that the men should think alike, as far as
creed was concerned, to prevent party strife; for it
has been always found in long voyages that assembling
the men for reading the Scriptures and common prayer
is a powerful means of promoting harmony, and of
cheering them in hours of despondency. Shandon
knew by experience the excellent moral effect of such
practices, as they are invariably adopted on board all
vessels that winter in Arctic regions.

The next business of Shandon and his officers was
the provisioning of the ship. In doing this they strictly
followed the instructions of the captain — instructions
so clear, precise, and minute, that the quantity and
quality were given of even the smallest article. Ready
money was paid for everything, and a discount of eight
per cent, received, which Richard carefully put to the
credit of K. Z.

Crew, provisions, and cargo were all ready by Janu-

ary, 1860. The Forward was rapidly assuming pro-
portions, and Shandon never let a day pass without i
visit to Birkenhead, to see how things went on. On
the 23rd of that same month, he was going across as
usual in one of the large steamers that ferry passengers
over the Mersey. It was one of those foggy mornings
when you can scarcely see your hand before you; but,
in spite of the obscurity, Shandon could make out the
figure of some stranger advancing towards him, and
as he got nearer, saw it was a little stout man, with a
bright jovial face and kindly eye, who came up, and
seizing both his hands, shook them so heartily in his
own, in such an impulsive, familiar, free-and-easy style,
that a Frenchman would have said he came from the
sunny south.

B ut though the newcomer was not a Southerner,
he made a narrow escape of it, for he was full of
talk and gesticulation, and seemed as if he would ex-
plode unless he came out with all he thought. His
small intellectual eyes and large mobile mouth were
safety-valves to let out the steam, and he talked and
talked so incessantly that Shandon was fairly over-
powered. He made a shrewd guess, however, who
this voluble little man was, and, taking advantage of
a momentary pause, managed to say, “Doctor Qaw-
bonny, I presume?”

“Himself in person, my good sir. Here I have been
seeking you for a whole quarter of an hour, and asking
everybody for you everywhere. Only imagine my im-
patience! Five minutes more, and I should have lost
my wits. It is really Richard Shandon I see. You
actually exist? You’re not a myth? Your hand, your
hand, that I may grasp it in mine. Yes, it is a genuine
flesh and blood hand, and there is a veritable Richard
Shandon. Well, come, if there’s a chief officer, there
must be a brig called the Forward that he commands ;
and if he commands, she is going to sail, and if she’s
going to sail, she will take Dr. Clawbonny on board.”

“Yes, Doctor, surely. There is a brig called the
Forward, and she, is going to sail, and I am Richard
Shandon.”

“That’s logic,” said the Doctor, drawing a long
breath, “that’s logic, and I am overjoyed to hear it, for
now I have reached the summit of my ambition. I
have waited long, and wished to go on a voyage ; and
now with you to command — ”

“Allow me,” interrupted Shandon.

But Clawbonny took no notice, and went on, “With
you we are sure of pushing onward, and never 3 delding
an inch of our ground.”

“But sir,” began Shandon again.

“You are a tried man, sir; you have seen service.
You have a right to be proud.”

“If you will please allow me to—”

“No, I will not allow your skill, and bravery, and
hardihood to be underrated even by you. The captain
who has chosen you for his chief officer knows his man.
I’ll be bound.”

“But that’s not the question,” said Shandon, impa-
tiently.

AMAZING STORIES

110

“Well, and what is the question, then? Don’t keep
me in suspense, pray.”

“You won’t let me speak. Please to tell me. Doctor,
how you came to join in the expedition of the Forward.”

“Well, it was through a letter which I have here
from the brave captain, a very laconic one, though it
says all that is necessary.”

And drawing the said letter out of his pocket, he
handed it to Shandon, who read as follows : —

Inverness, Jan. 22nd, 1860.

“If Dr. Clawbonny is willing to embark in the brig
Forward, let him present himself to the chief officer,
Richard Shandon, who has received orders concerning
him.”

“The Captain of the Fonvard, K. Z.

“To Dr. Clawbonny, Liverpool.”

“The letter came this morning, and here I am ready
to go on board.”

“But, at any rate,” said Shandon, “you know where
we are going, I suppose?”

“Not I; but what does it matter to me, so long as
I go somewhere? People call me a learned man, but
they are much mistaken. I know nothing, and if I
happen to have published some few books which sell
pretty well, they are not worth anything, and it is very
good of the people to buy them. I know nothing, I
tell you, except that I am an ignoramus. Now I have
a chance of completing, or rather recommencing, my
studies in medicine, in surgery, in history, in geogra-
phy, in botany, in mineralogy, in conchology, in geod-
esy, in chemistry, in natural philosophy, in mechanics,
in hydrography. Well, I accept the offer, and don’t
need much pressing, I assure you.”

“Then you know nothing about the destination of
the Fonvard?” said Richard, in a disappointed tone.

“I know this much, Mr. Shandon, that she is going
where there will be much to learn and discover, and
much to instruct us, for we shall come across other
nations with different customs from our own; she is
going, in short, where I have never Ixen.”

“But you know nothing more definite than that?”
exclaimed Shandon.

“I have heard some talk of her going to the North
Seas. So much the better if we are bound for the
Arctic.”

“But don’t you know the captain?” asked Shandon
again.

“Not at all; but he is a brave fellow, you may be
sure.”

By this time the steamer had arrived at Birkenhead,
and Clawbonny and Shandon landed on the pier, and
at once repaired to the shipbuilding-yard. The sight
of the brig almost made the little doctor beside himself
with joy, and he went subsequently every day to look
at her on the stocks.

He made his abode with Shandon, and undertook
the arrangement of the medicine-chest, for he was a
duly qualified doctor and a clever man, though rather
unpractical. At twenty-five years of age he was just
an ordinary surgeon, but at forty he was a learned man,
well known throughout the whole city, and a leading

member of the Literary and Philosophical Institute of
Liverpool. He possessed a small private fortune, which
enabled him to practice gratuitously in a great many
cases, and his extreme amiability made him universally
beloved. He never did an injury to a single human
being, not even to himself. Lively and rattling as he
was, and an incessant talker, he had an open heart and
hand for everybody.

As soon as the news of his appointment to the For-
ward spread through the city, his friends besieged him
with solicitations to remain at home. But their argu-
ments and entreaties only made him more determined
to go, and when the little man once got a crotchet in
his brain no one could turn him from it.

On the Sth of February the Foreword was launched,
and two months later she was ready to go to sea.

Punctually to the time, on the very day fixed for
his coming by the captain’s letter, a large Danish dog
made his appearance, sent by rail from Edinburgh to
Richard Shandon’s address. He was an ill-favored,
snappish, unsociable animal, with a peculiar expression
in his eye. A brass collar round his neck bore the
name of the ship, and he was installed on board the
same day, and a letter despatched to Leghorn to inform
the captain of his safe arrival.

The crew of the Forward was now complete, with
exception of the captain. It numbered the following
individuals: 1. The Captain, K. Z. 2. The Chief
Officer. 3. The Second Officer, James Wall. 4. Doctor
Clawbonny. 5. Johnson, the boatswain. 6. Simpson,
the harpooner. 7. Bell, the carpenter. 8. Brunton,
the chief engineer. 9. Plover, the second engineer.
10. Strong, a colored man, the cook. 11. Foker, the
ice-master. 12. Wolsten, the gunsmith. 13. Bolton,
sailor. 14. Garry, sailor. IS. Clifton, .sailor. 16.
Gripper, sailor. 17. Pen, sailor. 18. Warren, stoker.

CHAPTER IV

The Dog-Captain

T he 5th of April brought the sailing day. Dr.
Clawbonny’s coming on board somewhat reas-
sured people’s minds, for where the learned
Doctor went it must be safe to follow ; but still the
sailors seemed so restless and uneasy, that Shandon
longed to be fairly out at sea, for he did not feel sure
of any of them till they had lost sight of land.

Dr. Clawbonny’s cabin was on the poop, which took
up all the stern of the vessel. The captain’s cabin and
the chief officer’s were on either side, overlooking the
deck. The captain’s remained hermetically closed after
being furnished according to his written directions, and
the key, as he ordered, was sent to him at Luebeck, so
that no one could enter but himself.

This was a great vexation to Shandon, as it damped
his ambitious hopes of getting sole command. In fit-
ting up his own cabin, he took for granted they were
going to the Arctic, and knowing, as he did, so thor-
oughly all that was required, he left nothing undone.

The cabin of the second mate was in the forecastle,
where the men slept — a. large, roomy place, with a stove

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

111

in the center, and every accommodation, for the sailors
were treated as precious Cargo on this vessel, and well
provided for.

Dr. Clawbonny looked after himself, and he had
had plenty of time, as he had taken possession of his
cabin since the Sth of February, the day the Forward
was launched.

“The happiest of the animals,” he said, “would be
a snail, who could make a shell to his own liking, and
I mean to be an intelligent snail.”

And truly his ' shell did him credit, for the Doctor
took a perfect delight in arranging his scientific treas-
ures. His books, and herbals, and cases, and mathe-
matical instruments; his thermometer, and barometer,
and hygrometers, and udometers* ; his glasses, and com-
passes, and sextant; and maps and charts; and phials,
and powders, and medicine-bottles — all were arranged
and classified with an amount of order that might
have shamed the British Museum. Inestimable riches
were stored up in that small space of six feet square,
and it must be owned the good Doctor was not a little
proud of his sanctum, though three of his least corpu-
lent friends would have sufficed to crowd it uncom-
fortably.

To complete the description of the Forzuard it need
only further be said that the dog’s-kennel was built
right below the window of the mysterious cabin, but
its savage inmate preferred wandering between decks
and in the hold. It seemed impossible to make him
sociable, nobody could do anything with him, and in
the night his piteous howls would resound through the
whole vessel.

Dr. Clawbonny was so gentle and winning that he
would have tamed a tiger, hut all his attempts to get
into this dog’s good graces were in vain.

Richard Shandon had no apprehensions on that score,
though he had anxieties enough of another nature, and
the night before sailing he had a long confidential talk

on the subject with the Doctor and his two officers.

For more than an hour they had been talking over
the departure of the ship next day, for if the captain’s
words .were verified, the morning would bring a letter
containing final instructions.

“I hope,” said Shandon, “that if this letter doesn’t
give us the name of the captain, it will tell us at least
the destination of the ship, or how shall we know which
way to steer?”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed the impatient doctor,
“were I in your place I should be off even if no letter
came; it will find its way to us by hook or by crook,
I’ll warrant.”

“You stick at nothing. Doctor. But pray, how should
we direct our course then?”

“Towards the North Pole, most assuredly. That’s
a matter of course; it doesn’t admit of a doubt.”

“Not admit of a doubt!” said Wall; “and why not
towards the South Pole?”

“The South Pole! Never! Would the captain ever
dream of exposing a brig to all the difficulties of cross-
ing the broad Atlantic?” said the Doctor.

“No,” replied the loquacious little man, vexed at
having no answer ready. “But the question is just
this, if you don’t get a letter, what will you do?”

“I shall do nothing; I shall wait.”

“You won’t sail!” cried Clawbonny, aghast at the
possibility.

“No, not I.”

“That’s the wisest way,” said Johnson, quickly, while
the Doctor rose, and begin pacing the floor, for he
was too agitated to sit still. “Yes, that’s the wisest
way, and yet too great delay might be attended with
bad consequences. In the first place, this is a good
time of the year; and if north it is to be, we ought
to take advantage of the breaking up of the ice to get
past Davis Strait. Then, again, the men are getting
more restless every day; their friends and old ship-
mates are constantly urging them to leave the Forzvard;
and if we wait much longer we may find ourselves in
a pretty fix.”

“That’s quite true,” added James Wall ; “and if once
a panic got amongst the crew, they would desert to
a man, and I very much doubt if you would succeed
in getting fresh hands.”

“But what’s to be done, then ?” asked Shandon.

*Rain gauges.

112

AMAZING STORIES

"Just what you said,” replied the Doctor, “wait ; but
wait till to-morrow before you begin to despair. Every
one of the captain’s promises have been kept hitherto,
and there is no ground for believing that we shall not
be told where we’re going when the right time comes.
For my own part, I have not the slightest doubt that
we’ll be in full sail to-morrow on the Irish Sea, so I
vote that we have one more glass of grog, and drink
to our safe voyage. It certainly has a rather mysterious
beginning, but, with such sailors as you, a thousand
chances to one but we’ll have a prosperous ending.”

“And now, sir, if I may give you my advice,” said
Johnson, “I would give orders to be ready to sail to-
morrow, that the crew may not imagine there is any
uncertainty. To-morrow, whether a letter comes or
not, I would weigh anchor. Don’t light the fires, for
the wind bids fair to keep steady, and we shall be able
to get out easily with the tide. Let the pilot come on
board and we’ll get over to Birkenhead, and cast anchor
off the point. This will cut us off from communication
with the shore, and yet be near enough to allow of this
wonderful letter reaching us, should it arrive after all.”

“That’s well spoken, my good Johnson,” said the
Doctor, holding out his hand to the old tar.

“Well, so be it, then,” said Shandon, “and now good-
night.” They each retired to their respective cabins,
but were too excited to sleep much, and were up again
by sunrise.

T he morning letters had all been delivered, but
not one came for Richard Shandon. Still he went
on with his preparations for sailing, and, as we have
seen, the news had spread over Liverpool and brought
together an unusual concourse of spectators. Many
came on board to give a farewell embrace to a friend,
or a last entreaty not to go, and some to gratify their
curiosity by looking over the vessel, and trying once
more to discover its real destination. But they found
the chief officer more taciturn and reserved than ever,
and went off grumbling.

Ten o’clock struck, and eleven; at one o’clock the
tide would turn. Shandon stood on the poop gazing
with uneasy troubled looks at the crowd.

It was a cloudy day and the waves were dashing
high outside the basin, for there was a pretty strong
south-east wind blowing, but this could not prevent
them getting easily out of the Mersey.

Twelve o’clock struck and no letter. Dr. Clawbonny
began to walk impatiently up and down, staring about
through his eye-glass, and gesticulating in the most
excited manner. Shandon bit his lips silently till the
blood came.

Presently Johnson came up to him and said, “If we
are to sail with this tide, sir, we have no time to lose ;
for it will take us a full hour to get out of the docks.”

Shandon threw a last look round, consulted his
watch, and said briefly, “Go.”

This monosyllabic reply 'was enough for Johnson.
He gave immediate orders for all visitors to go ashore,
and the sailors began to haul in the ropes. ’There was
a simultaneous rush towards the side of the vessel.

The general confusion which ensued was greatly in-
creased by the furious yelping of the dog, and reached
a climax when the animal made one sudden bound
from the forecastle right into the midst of the crowd,
who fled before him right and left. He gave a loud
deep bark, and jumped on the poop, carrying a letter
between his teeth. Incredible as the fact may appear,
it could be confirmed by at least a thousand eye-
witnesses.

“A letter!” exclaimed Shandon. “Then he is on
board.”

“He has been, there is no doubt, but he is not now.”
replied Johnson, pointing to the deck, which was quite
clear of all strangers.

“Captain! Captain!” called the Doctor, trying to
take the letter out of his mouth ; but the dog resisted
stoutly, and was evidently determined to give the mes-
sage to none but the right party.

“Here, Captain !” shouted Shandon ; and at once the
beast sprang forward and passively allowed him to
withdraw the anxiously-expected missive, giving three
loud, clear barks, which were distinctly heard amid
the profound silence on the ship and on the quay.

Shandon held the letter in his hand without opening
it, till the Doctor exclaimed, impatiently, “Do, pray,
read it.”

The letter bore no postmark, and was simply ad-
dressed, “To the Chief Officer, Richard Shandon, on
board the brig Forward." Shandon opened it, and
read as follows: —

“You will steer your course towards Cape Farewell.
You will reach it on the 20th of April. If the captain
does not come on board, you will go through Davis’s
Strait, and up Baffin Bay to Melville Bay.

“The Captain of the Forward.

“K. Z.”

Shandon carefully folded up this laconic epistle, put
it in his pocket, and gave orders to sail.

The Forward was soon out of the basin, and, guided
by a Liverpool pilot, got out of the Mersey, the crowd
hurrying along the Victoria Docks to have a last glimpse
as she passed by. The fore- and mainsails were soon
hoisted, and the brig, with a speed worthy of her name,
rounded Birkenhead Point, and glided swiftly away
into the Irish Sea.

CHAPTER V

Out at Sea

T he wind was favorable, though very variable,
and full of sudden squalls, and the Forward cut
her way rapidly through the waves. At five
o’clock the pilot gave up his charge into Shandon’s
hands, jumped into his boat, and was soon out of sight.

Johnson was right. Once fairly out at sea, there
was no more trouble with the sailors. They fell into
regular ways at once, and in their admiration of the
ship’s good qualities, forgot the mystery hanging round
her.

The little Doctor almost lived on deck, gulping down
the sea air as if he could never be satisfied. He would
walk up and down in the stormiest weather, and, for

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

113

a man of learning, his sea legs were pretty fair. “The
sea is a beautiful thing to look at,” he said to Johnson,
coming on deck after breakfast. “I am rather late in
beginning my acquaintance with it, but I’ll soon make
up for it.”

“You are right, Dr. Clawbonny. I wouldn’t give
one fag-end of sea for all the continents in the world.
People say that sailors soon grow tired of their calling,
but here have I been, forty years at sea, and I enjoy it
as much as I did the first day.”

“And what a pleasure there is in feeling a good ship
under your feet; and, if I’m any judge, the Forward
is a regular ‘brick.’ ”

“You are quite right there,” said Shandon, coming
up at that moment ; “it is a well-built ship, and I must
confess I have never seen one better provisioned and
equipped for an Arctic expedition. That reminds me,
thirty years ago. Captain Ross, going in search of the
North-West passage — ”

“Went in the Victory," interrupted the Doctor, “a
brig of nearly the same tonnage as ours, and with a
steam-engine, too?”

“What! Do you know all about it?”

“Don’t I ?” said the Doctor. “Steam was then in its
infancy, and the engine on the Victory caused much
injurious delay. Captain Ross, after vainly trying to
repair it, ended by doing away with it altogether, and
left it behind in his first winter quarters.”

“Why, Doctor,” exclaimed Shandon, “I see you are
quite familiar with all the facts.”

“I ought to be,” replied the Doctor, “for I have read
the narratives of Parry, and Ross, and Franklin, and
the reports of McClure and Kennedy, and Kane, and
McClintock; and then one thing I recollect — ^this same
McClintock’s vessel, called the Fox, was a screw brig,
like ours, and he succeeded in gaining his object in a
more direct and easy manner than any of his prede-
cessors.”

“That is perfectly true,” said Shandon. “This Mc-
Clintock was a brave sailor. I have seen him at work ;
and you may add that, like him, we shall be in Davis
Strait before April is out; and if we can manage to
get past the ice, it will greatly shorten our voyage.”

“At all events,” returned the Doctor, “I hope we’ll
be better off than the Fox was in 1857, for she got
blocked in among the ice to the north of Baffin Bay
the very first year, and had to stay there all the winter.”

“We’ll hope for better luck, Mr. Shandon,” said
Johnson; “and, certainly, if we can’t get on with a
ship like the Forward, we had better give up trying
for good and all.”

“Besides,” said the Doctor, “if the captain is on
board, he will know what’s to be done better than we
do in our complete ignorance, for this wonderfully
laconic letter of his gives us no clue to the object of
the voyage.”

“We know what route to take, at any rate,” said
Shandon, rather sharply, “and that is a good de-ai. We
can manage now, I should think, to do without super-
natural interventions and instructions for a full month
at least.

“Also, you know my own opinion of this captain.”

The Doctor laughed, and said, “I thought with you,
once, that he would put you in command of the ship,
and never come on board ; but now — ”

“But what?” said Shandon in a snappish tone.

“But since the arrival of this second letter my views
on the subject are somewhat modified.”

“And pray why. Doctor?”

“Because, though the letter tells you what course
to take, it does not tell you the destination of the For-
ward. Now, he must know where we are going, and
I should like to know how a third letter can be sent to
you when we are out in the middle of the sea. On
the shores of Greenland the postman would certainly
be a rara avis. What I think, Shandon, is, that our
gallant captain is waiting for us at some Danish settle-
ment at Holsteinberg or Upemavik. He will have gone
there to complete his cargo of seal-skins, and to buy
his sledges and dogs — in fact, to get everything ready
that is required for a voyage to the Arctic Seas. I
shall not be at all surprised to see him walk out of his
cabin some fine morning, and give orders to the officers
in the most ordinary matter-of-fact fashion imaginable.”

“Possibly,” said Shandon, dryly ; “but meantime the
wind is freshening, and it is not very prudent to risk
a topmast in a stiff breeze.” This broke off the con-
versation, and he walked away immediately, and bade
the men reef sails.

“He sticks to his notion,” said the Doctor to John-
son.

“Ay, and more’s the pity,” said the boatswain, “for
you may be right, Mr. Clawbonny.”

Towards evening on Saturday, the wind changed to
a hurricane, and almost drove the ship against the Irish
coast. The waves were very high, and the brig rolled
and pitched so heavily, that if the Doctor had felt
inclined to be seasick, he would have had every excuse.
At seven they lost sight of Cape Malinhead on the
south. This was the last glimpse of Europe, and more
than one of the brave crew of the Forward, destined
never more to return, stood gazing with long, lingering
look. The gale ceased towards nine at night, and the
brig continued her course towards the northwest.

During the hurricane, Richard Shandon had closely
studied his men, analyzing each individual, as every
captain ought to do, that he may know what characters
he has to work with, and be on his guard. James Wall
was a most devoted officer but he was deficient in the
initiative faculty; he could understand and obey, but
that was all; he was only fit for a third-rate position.
Johnson, an experienced old Arctic sailor, had nothing
to learn in the way of sang froid and boldness. Simp-
son, the harpooner, and Bell, the carpenter, were re-
liable men, slaves of duty and discipline.

The ice-master, Foker, a sailor brought up in John-
son’s school, would be a valuable man.

Of the other sailors, Garry and Bolton appeared the
best. Bolton was a lively, chattering fellow. Garry
was about thirty-five years of age, an energetic-looking
young man, but rather pale and sad.

The three sailors, Clifton, Gripper, and Pen, were

114

AMAZING STORIES

less enthusiastic and resolute. They were rather fond
of grumbling; and Gripper would have given up his
engagement, even at the last moment, if he had not
been ashamed. So long as things went well, and there
was not much work to do, and no danger to risk, he
might reckon on these three well enough; but they
needed to be well fed. They took very badly to the
teetotal regimen, though they knew beforehand it was
to be enforced, and whenever the meal-time came round
they were always regretting their brandy or gin, though
they made up for it by drinking huge bowls of tea
and coffee, which might be had almost ad lihitmn on
board.

As for the two engineers, Brunton and Ployer, and
the stoker Warren, they had sat with folded arms
hitherto: their work had not begun.

Shandon knew now how much each man could be
depended on.

O N the 14th of April the Forward crossed the great
current called the Gulf Stream, which runs along
the eastern shore of the American continent as far as
the Banks of Newfoundland, and then curves south-
east to the coast of Norway. They found they were
in latitude 51° 37', and longitude 20° 58', about 200
miles from Greenland. The weather had become cold,
and the thermometer had fallen to 32°. — ^that is, to
the freezing point.

The Doctor had not yet donned his winter costume,
but he had followed the example of the sailors and
officers, and put on an oil-skin jacket and trousers, and
a big “sou’-wester,” and high boots, into which he
dropped all of a lump ; and really, to see him on deck
when the rain was falling in torrents, and the waves
dashing over the vessel, he might have been taken for
some marine animal, though the comparison would not
have flattered his vanity.

For two days the weather was extremely unfavor-
able, the wind was southwest, and the Forward could
make no way. From the 14th to the 16th the sea con-
tinued rough and stormy ; but on the Monday -a violent
shower came, the result of which was an almost im-
mediate calm. Shandon pointed out this peculiar phe-
nomenon to the Doctor, who replied :

“It quite confinns the curious observations made by
Scoresby, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edin-
burgh, of which I have the honor to be a corresponding
member. You see that during rain the waves are less
susceptible to the action of the wind, even when violent.
On the contrary, in dry . weather, the sea is easily agi-
tated by a comparatively slight breeze.”

“But how do you account for this?”

“That is easily answered. I don’t account for it
at all,” said the Doctor.

Just at that moment the ice-master, who was on
watch at the mast-head, signaled a floating mass on
the starboard side, about fifteen miles to leeward.

“An iceberg in these latitudes !” exclaimed the Doc-
tor.

Shandon pointed his glass in the given direction, and
confirmed the announcement of the pilot.

“That’s strange!” said the Doctor.

“Does that astonish you?” asked the chief officer,
smiling. “What I we are actually fortunate enough
to find something that astonishes you !”

“Well, it astonishes me, and yet it doesn’t,” replied
the Doctor, smiling, “for, in 1813, the brig Anne, of
Poole, got blocked in among ice-fields in the forty-
fourth degree of north latitude, and Dayement, her
captain, counted icebergs by hundreds.”

“Capital I” said Shandon ; “you can still find some-
thing to tell us about it that we don't know.”

“Oh! not very much,” was the modest reply of the
amiable little man, “except that icebergs have been met
with in still lower latitudes.”

“I know that, my dear Doctor, without your telling
me, for when I was cabin-boy aboard the Fly, a sloop-
of-war — ”

“In 1818,” interrupted the Doctor, “at the end of
March or we might say April, you passed between two
great islands of floating ice in the forty-second degree
of latitude.

“Really, you’re too bad. Doctor !” exclaimed Shandon.

“But it is true. I have no reason to be astonished,
then, at finding a floating iceberg in front of our ship,
seeing we are ten degrees farther north.”

“I declare. Doctor, you’re a perfect well ; we have
only to let down the bucket.”

“All right. I shall dry up sooner than you think;
and now, all I want to make me the happiest of doctors
is to see this curious phenomenon a little nearer.”

“Precisely,” said Shandon. “Johnson,” he added,
calling to his boatswain, “it seems to me the wind is
getting up.”

“Yes, sir,” said Johnson, “we are losing speed, and
the currents from the Straits of Davis will soon begin
to affect us.”

“You are righ't, Johnson; and if we want to be at
Cape Farewell by the 20th of April, we must put on
steam, or we shall be dashed against the coast of
Labrador. Mr. Wall, will you give orders for the
fires to be lighted immediately?”

His orders were executed forthwith, and in another
hour the steam had acquired sufficient power to turn
the screw, and the Forward was racing along on the
wind with close-reefed sails at full speed.

CHAPTER VI

The Great Polar Current

B efore long, the numerous flights of birds —
puffins, petrels, and others peculiar to these
desolate shores— indicated that they were ap-
proaching Greenland. The Fonvard was steaming
rapidly north, leaving leeward a long cloud of black
smoke.

On Tuesday, the 17th of April, the ice-master sig-
naled the blink of ice about twenty miles ahead, at
least. A radiant band of dazzling whiteness lighted
up all the surrounding atmosphere, in spite of some-
what heavy clouds. Experienced Arctic sailors can-
not mistake this appearance; and the old hands on

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

115

board at once pronounced it to be the luminous reflec-
tion from a field of ice about thirty miles in the
distance.

Towards evening the wind' fell south, and became
so favorable that Shandon was able to dispense with
steam, and depend once more on the sails.

On the 18th, at three o’clock, an ice-stream was dis-
covered in the far horizon, making a broad shining
white line between sea and sky. It was evidently drift-
ing more from the east coast of Greenland than from
Davis Strait ; and about an hour afterwards the
brig encountered it, and sailed right through the loose
floating masses.

On the morrow, at daybreak, a ship was descried,
which proved to be the Valkyrien, a Danish corvette,
going to Newfoundland. The current from the Strait
begaji to be sensibly felt, and Shandon was obliged to
crowd sail to get on at all.

He was standing on the poop with his two officers
and the Doctor, examining the force and the direction
of the current, when the Doctor asked if it was true
that this same current was uniformly found in Baffin
Bay.

“Undoubtedly that’s the case,” replied Shandon;
“and sailing vessels have great difficulty in making head
against it.”

“All the more,” said James Wall, “as they fall in
with it, both on the east side of America, and on the
west side of Greenland.”

“Well, then,” saM the Doctor, that is quite an
argument in favor of a North-West passage. This
current travels at the rate of about five miles an hour,
and one can hardly suppose it has its origin in the
bottom of the bay.”

“Here is another fact to confirm your reasoning.
This current goes from north to south; but in Bering
Strait there is a contrary current going from south
to north, which must be the origin of this.”

“That certainly proves that America is completely
detached from the Polar regions, and that the waters
of the Pacific flow round its coast, and fall into the
Atlantic. Besides, the superior elevation of the Pacific
makes it all the more likely that the European seas
would be fed by its waters.”

“But, surely,” said Shandon, “there must be some
facts to support this theory. Hasn’t our learned Doc-
tor any to tell us?” he added, half ironically.

“Oh, yes!” said Clawbonny, with a good-humored
air of complacency, “I could tell you this, which may
interest you, that whales which have been wounded
in Davis Strait have been captured subsequently on
the coast of Tartary with the European harpoon still
sticking in their sides.”

“And since they have neither doubled Cape Horn
nor the Cape of Good Hope, they must have got round
North America. That is proof positive. Doctor.”

“If you’re not convinced yet, my good Shandon, I
can bring forward other facts, such as the driftwood
which so abounds in Davis Strait — larches, and as-
pens, and tropical substances. Now, we know that this
south current would prevent this driftwood from enter-

ing ; if it comes out there, it must have got in by Ber-
ing Strait, for there is no other way.”

“I am quite satisfied. Doctor.; one couldn’t be long
incredulous with you.”

“Look out !” exclaimed Johnson ; “here comes some-
thing quite a propos to our conversation. I see a jolly-
sized log of wood floating there, and I propose we fish
it up, with out chief officer’s leave, and ask what coun-
try it comes from.”

Shandon agreed, and soon after the log was hauled
up on board, though with considerable difficulty. It
was a trunk of mahogany, worm-eaten to the very cen-
ter, which accounted for its floating.

“Here’s a triumphant proof,” exclaimed the Doctor,
enthusiastically. “Since it cannot have been carried
into Davis Strait by the Atlantic currents, and since
it cannot have been driven into the Polar basin by any
of the North American rivers, seeing that it grew just
below the Equator, it is evident it comes in a direct
line from Bering Strait. Besides, look at the worms.
They belong to a species peculiar to the tropics. Listen,
I’ll tell you the whole history of this log. It was car-
ried into the Pacific Ocean by some river, from the Is-
thmus of Panama or Guatemala. From thence it was
borne along by the current into Bering Strait, and
driven out into the Polar Sea. I should assign rather
a recent date to its departure, for it is neither old
enough nor soaked enough to have been long on the
road. After getting' through Baffin Bay, past that
long succession of straits, it was violently caught up by '
the Polar current, and brought through Davis Strait,
to take its place on board the Forward, for the special
delectation of Dr. Clawbonny, who now craves permis-
sion to keep a piece of it as a specimen.”

“By all means,” said Shandon ; “but allow me to tell
you that you are not the only possessor of a waif like
this. The Danish governor of the Isle of Disko, on the
coast of Greenland ”

“I know,” said the Doctor. “He has a table made of
a trunk picked up in similar circumstances. I know all
about it, Shandon ; but I don’t envy him his table for
there is enough there to make me a whole bedroom
suite, if it were worth the trouble.”

During the night the wind blew with extreme vio-
lence, and the driftwood became more frequently vis-
ible. It was a time of the year when any approach to
the shore would be dangerous, as the icebergs are very
numerous. Shandon therefore gave orders to lessen
sail, and take in all that was not absolutely necessary.

The next business was to give out warm clothing for
the crew, as the thermometer went down below freezing
point. Each man received a woolen jacket and trousers,
a flannel shirt, and wadmel stockings, like those worn by
the Norwegian peasants. Each man was also provided
with a pair of perfectly waterproof sea-boots.

As for “Captain,” he was quite contented with his
natural covering. He did not seem to feel the change
of temperature, and, likely enough, had been accus-
tomed to it before. Moreover, a born Dane can hardly
complain of cold : and “Captain” was wise enough not
to expose himself much ; he was seldom visible, gener-

116

AMAZING STORIES

ally stowing himself away in the darkest recesses of the
ship.

Towards evening, through a rift in the fog, the coast
of Greenland was indistinctly visible- — the Doctor just
caught a glimpse through the glass, of peaks and gla-
ciers, and then the fog closed over it again, like the
curtain falling at the theater at the most interesting
part of the play.

On the 20th of April the Forward sighted a fallen
iceberg, a hundred and fifty feet high. It had been in
the same place from time immemorial, and had become
firmly fixed below; as, for every foot above water, an
iceberg has nearly two below, which reckoning would
give this a depth of about sixty fathoms. No thaw
seemed to have affected it, or touched its strange out-
lines. It was seen by Snow; by James Ross, in 1829,
who made an exact drawing of it; and by Lieutenant
Bellot, in 1851. The Doctor, of course, was anxious to
carry away some souvenir of an ice mountain so cele-
brated, and succeeded in sketching it very successfully.

At last Cape Farewell came in sight, and the Forward
arrived on the day fixed, amidst snow and fog, with
the temperature at 12°. If the unknown captain should
chance to turn up here, he certainly could not complain.

“Here we are, then,” said the Doctor, “at this famous
cape ! Well named it is, for many have reached it like
us who never saw it more. Do we, indeed, say farewell
to our friends in Europe? Frobisher, Knight, Barlow,
Vaughan, Scroggs, Barentz, Hudson, Blosseville,
Franklin, Crozier, Bellot — ^all passed this way, some
never to return ! For them it was indeed a Cape Fare-
well.”

All the past history of Greenland rose up to memory,
as the Doctor stood gazing over the side of the ship.

CHAPTER VII
Davis Strait

D uring the day the Forward bored her way
easily through the loose ice. The wind was
favorable, but the temperature very low, owing
to the passage of the air currents over the ice-fields.

The night was the most trying time, requiring the
utmost vigilance. The icebergs so crowded the narrow
strait that upwards of a hundred could often be counted
on the horizon at one time. They were constantly be-
ing shed off by the glaciers on the coast, through the
combined action of the waves and the April weather,
and either melted away or floated away over the ocean.
It was necessary, also, to guard against coming into
collision with the driftwood, which was floating about
in continuous heavy masses, so the “crow’s nest” had
to be attached to the topgallant mast-head. This was a
cask with a movable bottom, in which the ice-master
took up his position, to keep a sharp look-out over the
sea. Here he was partially sheltered from the wind,
and could both give notice of any ice that came in sight
and direct the course of the vessel through it when
necessary.

The nights were short. The sun had reappeared since
the dose of January, and inclined more and more to
show himself above the horizon; but the snow came

between, and though not exactly causing darkness,
making navigation a work of difficulty.

On the 21st of April, Cape Desolation came in sight
through the fog. The men were worn out with fa-
tigue, for they had not a minute’s rest since they got in
among the ice. It was found necessary to have recourse
to steam to bore a way through the close, heavy packs.

The Doctor and the boatswain were standing at the
stern, having a chat, while Shandon was in his cabin,
trying to get a few hours’ sleep. Clawbonny was very
fond of having a talk with the old sailor, for he had
made so many voyages, and seen and heard so much,
that his conversation was always sensible and interest-
ing. The Doctor tod: quite a fancy to him, and John-
son heartily reciprocated his liking.

“How different this country is from all others,” said
Johnson. “It is called Greenland, but certainly it is
only during a very few weeks in the year that it justi-
fies its name.”

“But who knows, my good fellow, whether in the
tenth century it might not have been justly called so?
More than one total change like that has taken place
on our globe; and perhaps I shall astonish you consid-
,erably when I tell you that, according to Icelandic chron-
iclers there were two hundred flourishing villages on
this continent eight or nine hundred years ago.”*

“You astonish me so much, Mr. Clawbonny, that I
couldn’t be’iteve It for it is a miserable country.”

“Miserable it may be, but for all that it affords
enough to satisfy the inhabitants, and even civilized
Europeans, too.”

“True enough. Both at Disko and Upernavik we
shall find men who have taken up their abode in this
inhospitable climate; but, for my part, it has always
seemed to me that their stay there must be a matter of
necessity rather than of choice.”

“I can quite think that, yet a man can get used to
anything ; and the Greenlanders don’t appear to me so
much to be pitied as the laboring classes in our great
cities. They may be badly off, but one thing is certain,
they are not unhappy. I say badly off; but that does
not quite express my meaning. What I would say is,
they lack many comforts to be found in the temperate
zones, and yet their constitutions are so adapted to this
rude climate, that they find a measure of enjoyment in
it which we cannot even imagine.”

“I suppose it is so, Mr. Clawbonny, since Heaven
cannot be unjust; but I have been here many a time,
and yet I never can see these dreary solitudes without
a feeling of sadness coming over me. And then what
names they have given to these capes, and bays, and
headlands! Surely they might have found something
more inviting than Cape Farewell and Desolation.
They have not a very cheering sound to navigators.”

“I have thought the same thing myself,” replied the
Doctor; “and yet these names have a geographical in-

*The ruins of houses and many graves are still to be seen
there. Recently investigations have been made, and relics from
the tombs have been collected by Danish archeologists. One
theory about the name is that it was called Greenland to attract
settlers from Iceland.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

117

terest attaching to them which we must not overlook.
They record the adventures of those who gave them.
If I find Cape Desolation among such names as Davis,
Baffin, Hudson, Frobisher, Ross, Parry, Franklin, and
Bellot, I find soon afterwards Mercy Bay. Cape Provi-
dence is good company for Port Anxiety ; Repulse Bay
leads me to Cape Eden ; and Tumagain Point to Refuge
Bay. Here I have before me the whole succession of
dangers and disappointments, obstacles, and successes,
despairing failures, and accomplished results, linked
with illustrious names of my countrymen ; and as if on
a series of ancient medals, I read in this nomenclature
the whole history of these seas.”

“You have certainly made out a very good case for
it, Mr. Clawbonny. I only hope, in our voyage, we may
oftener ccane to Success Bay than Cape Despair.”

“I hope that, too, Johnson ; but, tell me, have the crew
got over their fears at all?”

“They have partly, sir; and yet, to speak frankly,
since we entered the strait, their heads are full again of
this eccentric captain of ours. More than one of them
expected him to make his appearance the moment we
reached Greenland, and there’s no sign of him yet.
Between ourselves, Mr. Clawbonny, are you not sur-
prised ?”

“I certainly am, Johnson.”

“Do you believe in the actual existence of this cap-
tain ?”

“Most assuredly.”

“But what can possibly induce him to act in this man-
ner ?”

“TTTELL, if I say what I really think, it is this —

VV the captain wished to get the sailors too far on
to be able to back out of the undertaking ; and if he had
shown himself on board ship when we were going to
sail, I don’t know how he would have managed at all,
with everybody clamoring to know the destination.”

“Why not?”

“My stars ! if he is going to attempt some superhu-
man enterprise, and try to push his way where human
feet have never trod, do you suppose he would have
found a crew at all to go with him? But by going to
work like this, he has dragged the men on so far, that
going farther becomes a necessity.”

“That’s very possible, Mr. Clawbonny. I have known
more than one bold adventurer, whose mere name
would have been enough to prevent anyone from join-
ing any expedition led on by them.”

“Anyone except me,” said the Doctor.

“And me, after you. Doctor,” replied Johnson. “No
doubt, then, our captain belongs to these daring ad-
venturers. Well, we shall see, I suppose. When we
reach Upemavik, or Melville Bay, I daresay our brave
incognito will quietly install himself on board, and in-
form us where he has a fancy to drag the ship.”

“I think that is very likely; but the difficulty is to
get to Melville Bay. Just look at the ice all around us.
There is hardly room for the ice to get through. See
that immense plain stretching out yonder!”

“In our Arctic language, Mr. Clawbonny, we call that

an ice-field — ^that is to say, a surface of ice which ex-
tends beyond the reach of sight.”

“And what do you call this broken ice on the other
side — ^those long pieces which keep so closely together?”

“That’s a pack. If the loose masses assume a circu-
lar form, we call it palch; and if elongated, a stream.”

“And all that floating ice, there — has that any par-
ticular name?”

“That is called drift ice. If it rose higher out of the
water it would be icebergs or ice-hills. It is dangerous
for ships to come into contact with them, and they have
to be carefully avoided. Look! do you see that pro-
tuberance, or sort of ridge of broken ice on the surface
of the field? That is called a hummock, and is formed
by the collision of fields. If its base was submerged,
it would be called a calf.”

“Well, it is certainly a curious spectacle,” said the
Doctor, “and one that acts powerfully on the imagina-
tion.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Johnson, “for the ice often
assumes the most fantastic forms.”

“For instance, Johnson,” interrupted the Doctor,
“look at that assemblage of huge blocks. Couldn’t you
fancy it was some eastern city, with its minarets and
mosques glittering in the pale moonlight? And then a
little way off is a long succession of Gothic arches,
which remind one of Henry the Seventh’s Chapel at
Westminster, or the Houses of Parliament.”

“Ay, Mr. Qawbonny, each man shapes those to his
own fancy ; but I can tell you both churches and towers
are dangerous places to live in, or even to get too near.
There are some of those minarets tottering at their base,
and the smallest of them would crush our brig to
pieces.”

“And yet men have dared to venture here without
having steam to fall back upon. It is difficult to ihiag-
ine a common sailing ship being able to pick her way
through those moving rocks.”

“It has been done, however, Mr. Clawbonny. When
the wind became contrary, which happened to myself
more than once, we anchored our ship to one of those
blocks, and waited patiently, drifting along with it
more or less, till a favoring breeze allowed us to resume
our course again. I must confess, however, it was a
very slow fashion of sailing. We did not get on far-
ther in a whole month than we should have done in a
day, if we had at all a fair wind.”

“It strikes me,” said the Doctor, “that the tempera-
ture keeps getting lower.”

“That would be vexing,” said Johnson, “for we need
a thaw to loosen these packs and make them drift into
the Atlantic. The reason they are so numerous in
Davis Strait is the narrowness of the space between
Cape Walsingham and Holsteinberg ; but after we get
beyond the 67th degree, we shall find the sea more navi-
gable during May and June months.”

“Yes ; but how to reach it is the question.”

“That’s it, Mr. Clawbonny. In June and July we
should have found the passage open, as the whalers do;
but our orders were positive — we were to arrive here
in April. That makes me think that our captain is some

118

AMAZING STORIES

thorough ‘go-ahead’ fellow who has got an idea in his
head, and is determined to carry it out. He would not
have started so soon if he had not meant to go a long
way. Well, if we live we shall see.”

The Doctor was right about the temperature. The
thermometer was only 6° at mid-day, and a breeze was
blowing from the southwest, which, though it cleared
the sky, considerably impeded the course of the ship,
as the strong current it produced drove the loose, heavy
masses of ice right across her bows. Nor did all these
masses move in the same direction. Some— -and those
the largest among them — floated in an exactly opposite
direction, obeying a counter-current below.

It is easy to understand what difficulty this caused in
navigation. The engineers had not a single moment’s
rest. Sometimes a lead or opening was discovered in
an ice-field, and the brig had to strain her utmost to get
into it. Sometimes she had to race with an iceberg
to prevent the only visible outlet from being blocked
up; while again some towering mass would suddenly
overturn, and the ship must be backed in an instant to
avoid being crushed. Should frost set in, all the accu-
mulation of floe-pieces driven into the narrow pass by
the north wind, would consolidate firmly, and oppose
an insurmountable barrier to the progress of the For-
ward.

The petrels and other sea-birds were innumerable.
They were flying about in all directions, filling the air
with their discordant cries. Amongst them was also
a number of sea-gulls, with large heads, short necks,
and compressed beaks, spreading their long wings, and
disporting themselves in the loose snow. These
feathered gentry quite enlivened the landscape.

The driftwood was still abundant, and the logs came
dashing against each other with great noise. Several
cachalots, or sperm whales, with enormous, massive
heads, approached the vessel ; but it was out of the
question to think of giving them chase, though Simpson
the harpooner’s fingers itched to try to spear them.
Towards evening, seals were also seen swimming about
between the floes, the tips of their snouts just above
water.

On the 22nd, the temperature became still lower. The
steam had to be at high pressure to enable the Forward
to gain any favorable lead whatever. The wind kept
steadily northwest, and the sails were close-reefed.

Being Sunday, the sailors had less work. After
morning service, which was read by Shandon, the crew
occupied themselves in shooting guillemots, a species of
northern auks. They caught a great number, which
were dressed according to Clawbonny’s receipt, and
j furnished an agreeable addition to the ordinary fare of
both officers and men.

At three o’clock in the afternoon the Forward
reached the Kin of Zaal, and the Sukkertop, or Sugar-
loaf — a wild, lonely peak, rising 3,000 feet above the
shore. There was a heavy swell in the sea, and from
time to time a dense fog would suddenly overspread
the gray sky. However, at noon the observations had
been taken, and it was found that the latitude was 65'
20', and longitude 54“ 22'. Two degrees higher had

therefore to be made before a more open sea could
be reached.

For the three fallowing days it was one continuous
struggle with the floes. It was a fatiguing business to
work the engine : the steam was cut off every minute,
and escaped hissing from the safet)' valve.

While the fog lasted, the approach of icebergs could
only be known by the hollow detonations produced by
the avalanches. The brig had then to turn aside at
once, for there was danger of coming into collision with
fresh-water blocks, as hard as rock, and remarkable for
their crystal transparency. Shandon took care to re-
plenish his supply of w'ater by shipping several tons of
these every day.

The Doctor could never get accustomed to the optical
illusions caused by refraction. For instance, an ice-
berg twelve miles off looked like a little white mass quite
close; and his eye needed long training to enable him
to judge objects correctly in a region where a phenome-
non like this was of frequent occurrence.

At length, what with forcing the brig along in field
ice and driving back threatening blocks with long poles,
the crew were completely worn out, and yet on F riday,
the 27th of April, the Forward was still outside the
Polar circle.

CHAPTER VHI

What the Crew Thought About It

B y watching the chance, however, and taking ad-
vantage of every favorable lead, the Forward
managed to gain a little ground, but instead of
avoiding the enemy, it was evident that direct attack
would soon be necessary, for ice-fields, many miles in
extent, were approaching, and as these masses, when in
motion, represent a pressure of more than ten millions
of tons, great care was requisite to avoid nippings, that
is, getting crushed in among them on both sides of the
ship. The saws were ordered to be brought up and
placed in readiness for immediate use.

It was hard work now for the crew, and some began
to grumble loudly, though they did not refuse to obev,
while others took things as they came with philosophic
indifference.

“I couldn’t tell for the life of me what brings it into
my head just this moment,” said Bolton gayly, ‘‘but I
can’t help thinking of a jolly little grog-shop in Water
Street, where a fellow can make himself very comfor-
table with a glass of gin and a bottle of porter. You
can see it, too, quite plain, can’t you. Gripper?”

“Speak for yourself,” said Gripper, in the surly tone
he generally adopted. “I can see nothing of the sort.”

“It’s only a way of speaking. Gripper; of course I
didn’t suppose that those ice-cities which Mr. Claw-
bonny so admires have even one solitary little public-
house in them, where a brave Jack Tar can get a tum-
bler or two of brandy.”

“You may be quite sure of that, Bolton; and for
that matter you might add, there is nothing even to be
had on board to keep a poor fellow’s heart up. A
queer idea, certainly, to forbid spirits to Arctic sail-
ors !”

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

119

“I can’t see that,” said Garry, ‘‘for you remember
what the Doctor said, that it was absolutely necessary
to avoid all stimulants if a man wished to go far north,
and keep well and free from scurvy.”

“But I have no wish to go far north, Garry. I think
it is all lost labor, even coming this length. I can’t see
the good of being so bent and determined on pushing
through where the Fates are dead against us.”

“Ah, well, we shan’t push through, anyway,” said
Pen. “And I think I have even forgotten the taste
of gin!”

“You must comfort yourself, my boy,” said Bolton,
“with what the Doctor said.”

“Oh, it’s all very fine to talk,” said Pen, in his coarse,
brutal voice, “but it remains to be seen whether all this
stuff about health isn’t a mere sham to save the rum.”

“Pen may be right, perhaps, after all,” said Grip-
per.

“Pen, right!” exclaimed Bolton. “His nose is too
red for that, and if this new regimen is beginning to
bring it back to its natural color a bit, he may thank
his stars instead of complaining.”

“What harm has my nose done to you, I should like
to know?” said Pen, angrily, for this was an attack on
his weak point. “My nose can take care of itself ; it
doesn’t want your advice. Mind your own business.”

"Come, Pen, don’t get rusty. I didn’t think your
nose was so sensitive. Why, man, I like a good, glass of
whisky as well as other people, especially in such a
climate as this, but if it does one really more harm than
good, I am quite willing to go without it.”

“You do without it?” said Warren, the stoker, “but
I am not so sure that everyone on board does without
it.”

“What do you mean, Warren?” said Garry, looking
fixedly at him.

“I mean this, that for some reason or other, there are
spirits on board, and I don’t believe some folks in the
cabin don’t make themselves jolly.”

“Pray, how did you know that?” asked Garry.

Warren could not answer ; he was only talking for
talk’s sake, as the saying is.

"Never mind him, Garry,” said Bolton. “You see
he knows nothing about it.”

“Well,” said Pen, “we’ll go and ask for a ration of
gin from the chief officer. We’ve earned it well. I’m
sure, and we’ll see if he refuses.”

“I advise you to do nothing of the sort,” rejoined
Garry, seriously.

“Why not?” asked Pen and Gripper.

“Because you’ll only get ‘No’ for an answer. You
knew the regulation when you signed the articles. You
should have thought about it sooner.”

“Besides,” replied Bolton, who always sided with
Garry, “Richard Shandon is not the master; he has
to obey like all the rest of us.”

“Obey whom, I should like to know?”

“The captain.”

“Confound the captain,” exclaimed Pen. “Can’t
you see through all this make-believe. There is no
more any real captain than there is any tavern among

those ice-blocks. It’s only a polite fashion of refusing
us what we have a right to demand.”

“But there is a captain,” replied Bolton, “and I
would wager two months’ wages that we shall see him
before long.”

“So much the better,” said Pen. “I, for one, should
like to say a few words to him.”

“Who’s talking about the captain?” said a fresh in-
terlocutor.

It was Clifton who spoke — an anxious, superstitious
man.

“Any more news about the captain?” he asked.

“None,” was the unanimous reply.

“Well, some fine morning I quite expect to find him
in his cabin, without anyone knowing how he got there,
or where he came from.”

“Be off with you,” said Bolton. “You seem to think
the captain is a sort of brownie, like those that the
Scotch Highlanders talk about.”

“Laugh as much as you like, Bolton, but that won’t
change my opinion. Every day, when I pass his cabin,
I take a look through the key-hole, and you see if I
don’t come and tell you some day what he looks like,
and how he’s made.”

“Plague take him,” said Pen ; “I suppose his timbers
are no different from other people’s; and if he’s going
to try and force us where we don’t want to go, he'll
soon show us what stuff he is made of.”

“That’s pretty good,” said Bolton. “Here’s Pen,
who doesn’t even know the man, wanting to pick a
quarrel with him directly.”

“Doesn’t know him?” returned Clifton; “that re-
mains to be proved.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gripper.

“I know what I’m saying.”

“But we don’t,” was the common exclamation.

“Why, hasn’t Pen quarreled with him already?’'

“With the captain?”

“Yes, with the dog-captain, for it comes to the same
thing.”

T he sailors gazed dubiously at each other, hardly
knowing what to say or think.

At last Pen muttered between his teeth, “Man or
dog, as sure as I’m alive. I'll settle accounts with him
one of these days.”

“Clifton,” asked Bolton, seriously, “do you actually
profess to believe that the dog is the real captain?
Johnson was only fooling you.”

“I firmly believe it,” said Clifton, with an air of per-
fect conviction, “and if you were to watch him as I
have done, you would have seen his strange behavior
for yourself.”

“What strange behavior? Tell us about him.”
“Haven’t you seen the way he marches up and down
the deck, and looks at the sails, as if he were on watch?”

“Yes, that’s quite true ; and one evening I positively
caught him, with his fore-paws up, leaning against the
wheel.”

“Impossible!” said Bolton.

“And doesn’t he leave the ship now every night, and

120

AMAZING STORIES

go walking about among the ice, without caring either
for the bears or the cold?”

“That is true, too,” said Bolton.

“Besides, is the animal like any other honest dog,
fond of human society? Does he follow the cook about,
and watch all his movements when he brings in the
dishes to the cabin ? Don’t you hear him at night, when
he is two or three miles from the ship, howling till he
makes your flesh creep, which, by the way, isn’t a very
difficult matter in such a temperature. And, to crown
all, have you ever seen him eat any food? He will
take nothing from anybody. His cake is never touched,
and unless someone feeds him secretly, I may safely
say he is an animal that lives without eating. Now,
you may call me a fool if you like, if that isn’t peculiar
enough.”

“Upon my word,” said Bell, the carpc.'ter, who had
listened to all Clifton’s arguments, “it is not impossible
you may be right.”

The other sailors were silent, till Bolton changed the
subject by asking where the Forward was going.

“I don’t know,” said Bell. “At a given moment,
Shandon is to receive his final instructions.”

“But how?”

“How?”

“Yes, how? that’s the question,” repeated Bolton.

“Come, Bell, give us an answer,” urged the others.

“I don’t know how,” said the carpenter. “I can tell
no more than you can.”

“Oh ! by the dog-captain, of course,” exclaimed Clif-
ton. “He has written once already; I daresay he can
manage a second letter. Oh, if I but knew half that
dog does, I should feel fit to be First Lord of the Ad-
miralty.”

“So, then, the short and long of it is, that you stick
to your opinion, Clifton,” said Bolton.

“I’ve told you that already.”

“Well,” said Pen, in a deep, hollow voice, “all I
know is, if that beast don’t want to die in a dog’s skin,
he had better be quick, and turn into a man, for I’ll
do for him as sure as my name is Pen.”

“And what for?” said Garry.

“Because I choose,” was the rude reply. “I am not
bound to give an account of my doings to anyone.”

“Come, boys, you have had talk enough,” said John-
son, interrupting the conversation to prevent a quarrel.
“Get to work; it is time the saws were all up, for we
must get beyond the ice.”

“So be it, and on a Friday, too. We shan’t get be-
yond it quite so easily,” said Clifton, shrugging his
shoulders.

From what cause it was impossible to say, but all the
efforts of the crew were in vain. That day the For-
ward made no way whatever, though she dashed against
the ice-fields with all her steam up. She could not
separate them, and was forced to come to anchor for
the night.

Next day the wind was east, and the temperature still
Idfver. The weather was fine, and, as far as the eye
could reach ice-plains stretched away in the distance;,
glittering in the sun’s rays with dazzling whiteness. At

seven in the morning, the thermometer stood eight de-
grees below zero.

The Doctor felt much inclined to stay quietly in his
cabin, and devote himself to the reperusal of his vol-
umes of Arctic voyages ; but his custom was always to
do whatever was most disagreeable to himself at the
time being, and as it was certainly anything but pleas-
ant to go on deck in such bitter weather and lend a
helping hand to the men, he adhered to his rule of con-
duct, and left his snug, warm quarters below, and went
upstairs to do his share of work in towing the vessel
along. He wore green spectacles to protect his eyes;
but from this time he began to make use of snow-
spectacles, to avoid the ophthalmia so frequent in Arc-
tic latitudes.

By evening the Forward had gained many miles,
thanks to the activity of the men and the skill of Shan-
don. At midnight they cleared the sixty-sixth parallel,
and on sounding, the depth was found to be twenty-
three fathoms. Land was about thirty miles to the
east.

Suddenly the mass of ice, which had hitherto been
motionless, broke in pieces, and began to move. Ice-
bergs seemed to surge from all ppints of the horizon,
and the brig found herself wedged in among a crowd
of moving bergs, which might crush her at any mo-
ment. The task of steering became so difficult that
Garry, who was the best hand at the wheel, could never
leave it. Ice-mountains were reforming behind the
ship, and there was no alternative but to bore a way
forward through the loose floes.

The crew were divided into two companies, and
ranged on the starboard and larboard ; each man armed
with a long pole pointed with iron, to push back the
most threatening packs. Before long, the brig entered
a narrow pass between two high blocks, so narrow, that
the ends of the yards touched the rock-like walls on
either side. This led into a winding valley, full of
whirling, blinding snow, where masses of drift ice were
dashing furiously against each other, and breaking up
into fragments with loud crackings.

But it was soon but too evident that there was no
outlet to this gorge; an enormous block was right in
front of the ship, and drifting rapidly down on her.
There appeared no way of escape, for going back was
impossible.

Shandon and Johnson stood together on the forepart
of the vessel, surveying her perilous position ; Shandon
giving orders with one hand to the steersman and with
the other to James Wall, who transmitted them to the
chief engineer.

“How is this going to end, Johnson?”

“As Heaven pleases,” was the boatswain’s reply.

The ice-block, an enormous berg a hundred feet high,
was now within a cable’s length of the Forward, threat-
ening her with instant destruction.

It was a moment of intense agonizing suspense, and
became so unbearable that the men flung down their
poles in spite of Shandon’s commands, and hurried to
the stern.

Suddenly a tremendous noise was heard, and a per-

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

121

feet waterspout broke over the deck. An enormous
wave upheaved the ship, and the men cried out in ter-
ror — all but Garry, who stood up quietly at the helm,
and kept the vessel in the right course.

But when the men recovered themselves a little, and
ventured to look the gigantic foe in the face again, it
was gone ! The whole berg had completely disappeared,
the pass was free, and there was a long channel beyond,
lighted up by the oblique rays of the sun, which offered
an iminterrupted passage to the Forward.

“Well, Mr. Clawbonny,” said Johnson; “how do
you explain this phenomenon ?”

“It is one that often occurs, and is very simple, my
good friend,” replied the Doctor. “When these floating
icebergs become detached at the time of the thaw, they
sail separately along and preserve their equilibrium per-
fectly, but as they gradually drift farther south, where
the water is relatively warmer, they begin to melt and
get undermined at the base, and the moment comes
when their center of gravity is displaced, and down
they go. If this had happened two minutes later, how-
ever, it would have fallen on the ship and crushed her
to atoms.”

CHAPTER IX
A Letter

T he Polar circle was entered at last. The For-
ward passed Holsteinberg at twelve o’clock on
the 30th of April. Picturesque mountain scenery
appeared on the eastern horizon, and the sea was open
and free from icebergs, or rather any icebergs that
were visible could easily be avoided. The wind was in
the S. E., and bore along the brig in full sail up Baffin’s
Bay.

The day would have passed unmarked by any un-
usual incident but for the following occurrence, which,
strange as it may appear, actually took place. At six
in the morning, when Richard Shandon’s watch was
over, and he came back to his cabin, he found a letter
lying on his table directed thus :

“To the chief officer, Richard Shandon,

“On board the Forward,

Baffin Bay.”

Shandon could not believe his own eyes, and would
not even take the letter in his hands till he had called
the Doctor and James Wall and the boatswain to look
at it.

“It is certainly very strange,” said Johnson.

“I think it is charming !’ !’ exclaimed the Doctor.

“At any rate,” replied Shandon, “we shall know the
secret now, I suppose.”

He tore open the envelope hastily and read as fol-
lows:

“The captain of the Forward is pleased with the cool-
ness, skill, and courage displayed in recent trying cir-
cumstances by the crew and officers, and yourself. He
begs you to convey his thanks to the men.

“You will please direct your course north to Melville
Bay, and from thence attempt to make Smith Sound.

“The Captain of the Forward,

“K. Z.”

“Monday, April 30th, off Cape Walsingham.”

“And that’s all !” exclaimed the Doctor.

“That’s all,” was Shandon’s reply.

“Well !” said Wall, “this Quixotic captain doesn’t
even so much as speak of coming on board now. I in-
fer from this he doesn’t intend to come at all.”

“But this letter,” said Johnson, “how did it get on
board the vessel?”

Shandon was silent.

“Mr. Wall is right,” replied the Doctor, picking up
the letter which had fallen on the floor, and giving it
back to Shandon.

“The captain won’t come on board for a very good
reason.”

“And what is it?” inquired Shandon, eagerly.

“Because he is there already !” said the Doctor flatly.

“Already! What do you mean?”

“If he is not, how do you explain the arrival of the
letter ?”

Johnson nodded his head approvingly.

“It is not possible!” exclaimed Shandon. “1 know
every one of the crew ; and, if your idea were correct,
the captain must have been on board ever since the ship
sailed. It is perfectly impossible, I say ; for there is not
a man among them I haven’t seen more than a hundred
times in Liverpool during the last two years. No, no,
Doctor ; your theory is altogether inadmissible.”

“Well, then, how do you account for it?”

“Any way but that. I grant you that the captain,
or someone employed by him, may have taken advan-
tage of the fog and darkness to slip on board unper-
ceived. We are not far from land, and the Esquimaux
kayaks glide along noiselessly between the icebergs.
He might easily have managed to climb up the ship
and deposit the letter. The fog has been quite dense
enough for that.”

“Yes, and dense enough, too, to keep anyone from
seeing the brig ; for if we could not notice an intruder
coming on deck, it is not very likely he would be able
to discover the vessel.”

“I think that, too,” said Johnson. “What do you
say, Mr. Shandon?’’

“Anything you like, except that he is one of the
crew,” said Shandon, in an excited manner.

“Perhaps it is one of the sailors who has been com-
missioned by him,” suggested Wall.

“That may be,” said the Doctor.

“But which of them?” asked Shandon. “I tell you,
all the men have been personally known to me this long
time.”

“At any rate, the captain will be welcome whenever
he chooses to come, be he man or fiend,” said Johnson.
“But there is one piece of information in the letter at
all events. We are not only going to Melville Bay but
to Smith Strait.”

“Smith Strait,” repeated Shandon, mechanically.

“It is evident,” continued Johnson, “that the object
of the Forward is not to seek the North-West passage,
since we must leave Lancaster Sound, the only entrance
to it, on the left. This supposes very difficult naviga-
tion for us in unknown seas.”

122

AMAZING STORIES

“Yes,” said Shandon, “Smith Sound was the course
taken by the American, Dr. Kane, in 1853; and what
dangers he encountered! He was given up for lost
for a long time. However, if we are to go, we go. But
where? To the Pole?”

“Why not?” asked the Doctor.

Johnson shrugged his shoulders at the bare possi-
bility of such a mad attempt.

“Well, then,” said. Wall, “to come back to the cap-
tain; if he exists, I hardly see any place in Greenland
where he can be waiting for us except Disko, or Uper-
navik, so in a few days at most we shall know better
how the case stands.”

“But, Shandon,” asked the Doctor, “are you not go-
ing to tell the men about this letter?”

“With your leave, sir,” said Johnson, addressing
Shandon, “I say not.” ^

“And why not ?’

“Because anything so unheard-of and so mysterious
dispirits the men. They are very uneasy as it is about
the issue of this strange expedition, but if anything
supernatural should occur, it might have the worst pos-
sible effect on them; and we could never rely on them
when they may be most wanted.”

“What is your opinion, Doctor?” asked Shandon.

“Johnson’s reasoning seems convincing, I think,”
was the reply.

“And what say you, James?”

“I incline to Johnson, sir.”

After a few moments’ reflection, Shandon read the
letter carefully again, and then said:

“Your opinion is very sensible, but excuse me, gen-
tlemen, I cannot adopt it.”

“Why not, Shandon?”

“Because my instructions are plain and precise. I
am told to convey a message from the captain to the
crew. All I have to do is to obey orders, however they
may have come to me, and I cannot ”

“But, sir,” interrupted Johnson, mainly concerned
at the disastrous effect of any such communication on
the sailors.

“My good fellow,” said Shandon," I can understand
your opposition, but I put it to yourself, whether I
have any option in the matter. Read the letter. ‘He
begs you to convey his thanks to the crew.’ ”

“Well, then,” said Johnson, when his love of dis-
cipline was thus appealed to, “shall I assemble the men
on deck?”

“Do so,” replied Shandon.

T he news of the communication from the captain
soon spread, and the sailors needed no second sum-
mons to hear the mysterious letter. They listened to it
in gloomy silence, but gave way to all sorts of wild
conjectures, as they dispersed to their work. The su-
perstitious Clifton ascribed everything, as usual, to the
dog-captain, and said triumphantly: “Didn’t I say that
animal could write?”

From this day forward he always took care to touch
his cap whenever he chanced to meet him about the
ship.

One thing was patent to the observation of anyone —
the captain, or his ghost, was always watching over
their doings, and prudent individuals began to think it
advisable to keep quiet, and say as little about him as
possible.

By observations taken at noon on the 1st day of May,
the longitude was found to be 32'’ and the latitude
68°. The temperature had risen, and the thermometer
stood at 26° above zero.

The Doctor was on deck, amusing himself with the
gambols of a white bear and her cubs, on a pack of ice
frozen fast to the shore. He tried to capture her, with
the assistance of Wall and Simpson; but the brute was
evidently of a peaceable disposition, for she never
showed fight at all, but scampered off with hei* progeny
at full speed.

Cape Walsingham was far astern and they sailed all
night with a favorable breeze, and suddenly the high
mountains of Disko rose to view. The Bay of Godhavn,
where the Governor-General of the Danish settlements
resided, was left on the right.

Isle Disko is also called Whale Island. It was from
this place that Sir John Franklin wrote his last letter
to the Admiralty, on the 12th of July, 1845, and it was
there that McClintock touched on his return, on the
27th of August, 1859, bringing incontestable proofs of
the loss of the expedition.

The shore was one continuation of icebergs, of the
most peculiar fantastic shapes, so firmly cemented to the
coast that the most powerful thaws had been unable
to detach them.

Next day, about three o’clock, they sighted Sander-
son Hope, to the N.E. Land was on the starboard
side, about fifteen miles off, the mountains looking
brownish-red in the distance. In the course of the eve-
ning, several whales of the species called finbacks, which
have their fins on the back, were seen disporting them-
selves among the ice, blowing out large volumes of air
and water through the apertures in the head.

During the night of the 5th of May, the Doctor ob-
served the luminous disk of the sun, for the first time,
appear completely above the horizon, though from the
31st of January to that date there had been constant
daylight.

To those who are not accustomed to it, there is
something in this continual day which excites wonder-
ment at first, but soon gives place to weariness. One
would hardly believe how necessary the darkness of
night is for the preservation of the sight. The Doc-
tor felt the constant glare of daylight positively pain-
ful, intensified as it was by the dazzling reflection of
the ice.

On the 5th of May the Forward passed the seventy-
second parallel. Two months later, she would have
fallen in with numerous whalers about to commence
their fishing, but at present the Strait was by no means
free enough to allow their vessels to get into Baffin
Bay.

The next day the brig arrived in sight of Upemavik,
the most northerly of the Danish settlements on the
coast.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

123

CHAPTER X

Perilous Navigation

S HANDON, Dr. Clawbonny, and Johnson, accom-
panied by Foker and Strong, the cook, got into
the whaling-boat, and went on shore.

The Governor, with his wife and five children, came
courteously to meet their visitors. Dr. Clawbonny
knew enough Danish to establish friendly relations be-
tween them, and Foker, the ice-master, who was also
interpreter, knew about twenty words of the Esqui-
maux tongue, and a good deal can be done with twenty
words if one is not very ambitious.

The Governor was born on Disko Island, and had
never been out of it in his life. He did the honors
of his town, which was composed of three wooden
houses for himself and the three Lutheran ministers, a
school, and a few shops, which were stocked by ship-
wrecked vessels. The rest of the town consisted of
snow-huts, with one single opening, into which the Es-
quimaux crawled on all-fours.

A great part of the inhabitants had gone out to meet
the Forward, and more than one advanced as far as
the middle of the bay in his kayak.

The Doctor knew that the word Esquimaux means
eater of raw fish, but he also knew that this name is con-
sidered an insult by the natives ; and he therefore took
care to call them “Greenlanders.”

And yet their oily sealskin clothes and boots, and
the greasy, . fetid smell of both men and women — for
one sex is hardly distinguishable from the other — told
plainly enough the description of food on which they
lived, as well as the disease of leprosy which prevailed
to some extent among them, as it does among most ich-
thyophagous races, though it did not affect their health.

The Lutheran clergyman and his wife, with whom
the Doctor was anticipating some pleasant intercourse,
were on a visitation in the south, below Upernavik, so
he was obliged to make the best of the Governor. This
worthy functionary was not very lettered ; a little less
intelligence would have made him an ass ; a little more,
and he would have known how to read.

The Doctor also wished to make a personal inspection
of an Esquimaux hut, but, fortunately for him, the
entrance was too small to allow of his admission. It
was a happy escape, for nothing can be more repulsive
than the interior of a Greenland hut, with its heap of
dead and living things, seal-flesh, and Esquimaux rot-
ten fish, and stinking garments ; not even a solitary
window to purify the air; nothing but a hole at the
top, which allows the smoke to escape, but not the fetid
smell.

Shandon, meanwhile, was obeying the instruction of
his unknown commander, and procuring means of
transport over the ice. He had to pay £4 for a sledge
and six dogs, and even then the natives wished to get
out of their bargain. He also sought to engage the
services of Hans Christian to manage the dogs, the
same young man that accompanied the McClintock ex-
pedition, but found he had gone to the south of Green-
land.

But the most important part of Shandon’s business
was to try and discover whether there was any Euro-
pean at Upernavik waiting for the arrival of the For-
ward. Was the Governor acquainted with any stranger,
an Englishman most probably, who had taken up his
abode in this region? When had he last had any in-
tercourse with whalers or other vessels?

To these questions the Governor replied that not a
single stranger had landed on the coast for more than
ten months. It was evidently a hopeless mystery, and
Shandon could not help crowing a little over the dis-
appointment of the sanguine Doctor.

“You must own it is quite inexplicable,” he said ;
“nothing at Cape Farewell, nothing at Disko Island,
nothing at Upernavik.”

“Wait a few days, and if it turns out ihereis nothing
at Cape Melville either, I shall hail you as the only
captain of the Forward."

Towards evening, the whale-boat came baek to the
ship, bringing Strong, the cook, with some dozens of
eider-ducks’ eggs, twice the size of common hens’
eggs, and of a greenish color. His forage for fresh
provisions had not been successful, but still the eggs
were a very welcome addition to the salt junk.

The wind was favorable next day, but Shandon still
delayed weighing anchor. He determined to wait till
morning to give time for anyone to come on board that
wished, and fired a salute from the cannon every hour
to make known the presence of the vessel. It made a
tremendous noise among the icebergs, but had no ef-
fect beyond frightening the raollymokes and notches,
who came flying out in clouds. Squibs and rockets in
abundance were sent up during the night, but equally
without result. There was no alternative but to pro-
ceed.

By six o’clock next morning the Forivard had lost
sight of Upernavik and its ugly posts all along the
shore, with strips of seal intestines and paunches of
deer hanging to dry. The wind was S.E., and the tem-
perature had risen to 32°. The sun appeared through
the fog, and the icebergs began to give way a little
beneath his melting beams.

The white, dazzling reflections of his rays, however,
had a disastrous effect on the men. Wolsten, the gun-
ner, Gripper, Clifton, and Bell, were attacked with
snow blindness, a very common disease in spring, and
often terminating among the Esquimaux in total loss
of sight. The Doctor advised everyone, and especially
those suffering from the complaint, to wear a green
gauze veil, and he was the first to follow his own pre-
scription.

The dcgs Shandon had purchased at Upernavik
turned out rather wild at first, but they soon became
used to the ship, and Captain got on very well with his
new associates. He seemed no stranger to their ways,
and, as Clif+on was not slow to remark, he had evi-
dently been among his Greenland brethren before.

A fter leaving Upernavik, the appearance of the
coast changed considerably. Immense glaciers
stood out against the gray sky, and in the west, beyond

124

AMAZING STORIES

the opening of Lancaster Sound, vast ice-fields ex-
tended, ridged with hummocks at regular intervals.
There was great danger of the brig becoming nipped, as
each instant the leads got more impracticable. Shandon
had the furnaces lighted, and till the 11th managed to
pursue a winding course among the loose floes, but on
the morning of the 12th, the Forward found herself be-
set on all sides. Steam proved powerless, and there
was no alternative but to cut a way through the ice-
fields. This involved great fatigue, and a mutinous
spirit began to manifest itself in some of the crew, such
as Pen, Gripper, Warren, and Wolsten. Certainly it
was hard labor to saw through huge masses six and
seven feet thick, and when this was accomplished, it
was almost as hard to warp the vessel along by means
of the capstan and anchors fixed in the ice in holes
made with a center-bit. The broken ice, too, had to
be constantly pushed back under the floes with long
poles tipped with iron, to keep a free passage, and all
this physical toil, amid blinding snow, or dense fog,
combined with the low temperature, the ophthalmia, and
the superstitious fears of Clifton, contributed to weaken
the mental and bodily energy of the men.

When the sailors have to deal with a bold, intrepid,
decided leader, who knows his own mind and what he
intends to do, confidence is felt in spite of themselves;
they are one in heart with their captain, strong in his
strength and calm in his calmness. But the crew of the
Forward were conscious of Shandon’s irresolution and
hesitancy, for, notwithstanding his natural energy of
character, he betrayed his weakness by his frequent
countermand of orders, by imprudent remarks, and in
a thousand little, things that did not escape the notice
of his men.

The simple fact, besides, that Shandon was not the
captain, was enough to make his orders matters of dis-
cussion, and from discussion to rebellion is an easy
step.

Before long, the malcontents had won over the head
engineer to their side, a man who had been hitherto a
very slave of duty.

On the 16th of May, six days from the time the For-
ward had reached the ice-fields, Shandon had not made
two miles farther north. This was a very serious as-
pect of affairs, for they were in imminent danger of
being locked in till the next season.

About eight in the evening, Shandon and the Doctor,
accompanied by Garry, went out on a voyage of discov-
ery over the vast outstretching plains of ice. They
took care not to go too far from the ship, for it would
have been difficult to find the way back. The Doctor
was quite amazed at the peculiar effects of refraction.
He came to a place where he thought he had only to
make a little jump, and found to his surprise he had
five or six feet to leap over, or vice versa. In both
cases a fall resulted. Though not dangerous, falling
was painful on such a hard, slippery surface.

Shandon and his companions were in search of leads,
or navigable openings, and in pursuance of this object,
about three miles from the ship, they climbed, though
with considerable difficulty, to the top of an iceberg,

above three hundred feet high. From this they had an
extended view over a widespread heap of desolation.
It was like gazing at the ruins of some mighty city, with
its fallen obelisks and overturned towers and palaces.
It was a veritable chaos, and far as the eye could see,
not a single lead was visible.

“How shall we get through?” asked the Doctor.

“I don’t know,” replied Shandon, “but get through
we must, even if we have to blast those mountains with
powder. I certainly have no intention of being impris-
oned in the ice till next spring.”

“As the Fox was, just about this very same part,”
said the Doctor. “Bah! With a little philosophy, we
shall get out, never fear. I would back that against all
the engines in the world.”

“One must confess things do not look very favorable
this year.”

“That is true enough. The aspect of the regions is
much the same as it was in 1817.”

“Do you suppose, then. Doctor, it is not always alike
the same to-day as it has always been ?”

“Unquestionably I do, Shandon. From time to time
sudden breakings up occur, which scientific men have
never been able to explain. Till 1817 this sea was con-
stantly blocked up, but in that year an immense cata-
clysm took place, which hurled the icebergs into the
ocean, and many of them reached the Banks of New-
foundland. From that time Baffin Bay has been nearly
free, and has become the rendezvous of numerous whal-
ers.”

“Then it is easier now for ships to go north ?” asked
Shandon.

“Immensely so,” said the Doctor, “but it has been a
subject of remark, that for some years past there has
been a tendency in the Bay to refill and close again, an
additional reason why we should push on with all our
might; though, I must confess, we are much like a
party of strangers going through unknown galleries,
when each door closes behind as they pass through, and
cannot be reqsened.”

“Do you advise me to go back?” asked Shandon,
looking at the Doctor, as if he would read his inmost
soul.

“1 advise you to go back! No, I have never yet
learned to put one foot behind the other, and I say go
on, even should we never return; only, what I wish to
impress on you is this, that if we set to work impru-
dently, we know the risks we incur.”

“And what is your opinion Garry?” said Shandon.

“I should go right on, certainly, sir. I agree with
Mr. Qawbonny. However, it rests with you entirely.
Give your orders, we will obey.”

“All don’t say so, Garry,” was Shandon’s reply. “All
are not in the mood to obey. Suppose they refuse?
What then?”

“I have told you my mind,” replied Garry coldly,
“because you asked me, but you are not oblig^ to fol-
low my advice.”

Shandon made no response ; but after carefully scan-
ning the horizon once more, climbed down the iceberg
again, followed by his two companions.

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

125

CHAPTER XI
The Devil’s Thumb

D uring Shanclon’s absence, the crew had been
busily engaged in various attempts to lessen the
pressure of the ice. This task was entrusted
to Pen, Clifton, Bolton, Gripper, and Simpson, in addi-
tion to the two engineers and the stokers, who had to
take their share of work as sailors, now that their serv-
ices were not required at the engine.

“I tell you what,” exclaimed Pen, angrily, “I have
had enough of this, and I swear that if the ice does
not break up within three days, I’ll fold my arms, and
not do another hand’s turn !”

“Fold your arms!” said Gripper; “you had far bet-
ter use them to get back. Do you suppose we are
inclined to stay here all the winter till next spring?”

“Truly it would be a dismal place to winter in,” said
Plover, “for the vessel is .exposed on all sides.”

“And who knows,” asked Brunton the engineer,
“whether the sea will be a bit more open next spring
than it is to-day?”

“It isn’t a question of next spring,” replied Pen;
“this is Thursday, and if the passage is not open by
Sunday morning, we turn around and go south.”
“That’s a sensible speech,” said Clifton.

“Do you go in for that?” inquired Pen.,

“Yes,” was the unanimous reply.

“And it is only just,” said Warren; “for if we are
obliged to work in this fashion, and worlrthe ship along
by main force, my opinion is that pur labor would be
better spent in dragging it back.”

“We shall see that on Sunday,” said Wolsten.

“Let me get orders,” said Brunton, “and I’ll soon
light the furnaces.”

“As for that,” returned Clifton, “we can light them
ourselves.”

“If any one of the officers,” continued Pen, “has a
fancy to winter here, he is quite at liberty. He’.ll find
no difficulty in making a snow-hut for himself, where
he can live like a regular Esquimaux.”

“That’s out of the question. Pen,” said Brunton,
“we cannot leave anyone behind; and, what’s more, I
don’t think the chief officer will be difficult to persuade.
He seems very uneasy now, and if we propose the
thing quietly to him — ”

“That remains to be seen.” said Plover. “Richard
Shandon can be a hard, obstinate man when he likes;
we must feel our way carefully.”

“Only to think,” said Bolton, eagerly, “that in a
month’s time we might be back in Liverpool. We shall
easily get over the ice-belt down south. Davis Strait
will be open at the beginning of June, and we have
only to get right out into the Atlantic.”

“We have this to take into account besides,” said
the prudent Clifton, “that, in getting Shandon to come
back with us, we act on his responsibility, and our
shares and bounty money are sure ; whereas, if we
return alone, it is at least doubtful if we get them.”

“But suppose the officers will not go back ?” resumed
Pen, bent on pushing the question to the extreme.

There was no reply for a moment, and then Bolton
said : “We shall see when the time comes ; all we have
to do now is to win over Richard Shandon to our
side, and I don’t think that will be difficult.”

“There is one on board, at all events. I’ll leave be-
hind,” said Pen, with a frightful oath, “though he
should eat my arm off.”

“That dog?” said Plover.

“Yes, that dog ; and I mean to do for him before I
am much older.”

“The sooner the better,” replied Clifton, never weary
of his favorite subject. “He is the cause of all our
misfortunes.”

“I believe he dragged us into the ice,” said Gripper.

“Ay, and gathered it up like this in front of us, for
such compact masses are never seen at this time of
the year,” added Wolsten.

“It is through him my eyes are so bad,” said Brun-
ton, wearily.

“And through him we have neither gin nor brandy,”
said Pen.

So the men went on, each one having his own
grievance against the dog.

“Worst of all,” said Clifton, “he is the captain !”

“A curse of a captain he is too!” exclaimed Pen, in
a paroxysm of senseless rage. “Well, he determined
to come here, and here he shall stay.”

“But how shall we got hold of him?” said Plover.

“Now’s our chance,” replied Clifton; “Shandon is
not on board ; Wall is asleep in his berth ; and the fog
is so thick that Johnson will never see us.”

“But the dog?” interrupted Pen.

“Captain is lying asleep this moment close beside the
coal-bunker,” replied Clifton ; “if anyone chooses to—”

“I’ll undertake to get him,” cried Pen in a fury.

“Take care. Pen; he has grinders that can break
iron bars.”

“If he stirs. I’ll rip him up,” declared Pen, taking
up a knife, as he rushed down between decks, followed
by Warren, who wished to have a hand in the business.

Both came back presently, carrying the dog in their
arms, muzzled and tied up. They had surprised him
in his sleep, and escape was impossible.

“Hurrah for Pen!” exclaimed Plover.

“And now what’s to be done with him?” inquired
Clifton.

“Drown him, and see if he ever makes his appearance
again,” replied Pen, with a grim smile of satisfaction.

About two hundred paces from the ship was a seal-
hole, a circular opening made by the animals, out of
which they come to breathe at certain intervals, basking
on the surface of the ice, retreating below when danger
approaches.

Pen and Warren directed their course to this hole,
and, in spite of the poor dog’s vigorous struggles, suc-
ceeded in plunging him into the sea, pitilessly placing
an immense block of ice afterwards over the opening,
to deprive him completely of all hope of release from
his liquid prison.

“A good voyage to you!” shouted the cruel Pen as
he returned to the vessel with Warren, unperceived by

126

AMAZING STORIES

Johnson, for in addition to the thick fog the snow had
commenced to fall heavily.

About an hour afterwards Shandon and his two
companions came back. Shandon had discovered a
single lead to the north-east, and determined to take
advantage of it. The crew obeyed his orders with
alacrity, for three days still remained ; and, moreover,
they wished to prove the impracticability of proceed-
ing farther north.

Sawing the ice and tracking went on busily during
a part of that night and all next day, and the Forward
had gained two miles.

On the 18th they sighted land, and came within five
or six cables’ length of a singular peak, called, from
its strange shape, the Devil’s Thumb.

At the very same place the Prince Albert, in 1851
and the Advance, with Dr. Kane, in 1853, were caught
in the ice and detained for several weeks.

It was a dismal spot. The weird, fantastic form of
the towering peak, the dreary, desolate surroundings,
the ominous crackings of the glaciers, echoing and re-
echoing over the distant plains, and the vast encircling
icebergs, some of them three hundred feet high, invested
the whole region with peculiar gloom, and Shandon felt
no time must be lost in getting out of it. By dint of
strenuous efforts, in twenty-four hours he had pushed
on about two miles ; but this was not enough. Yet
what was to be done? He felt as if his energies were
paralysed by the false position in which he was placed,
and a sort of shrinking fear began to creep over him,
for he knew that he could not carry out the instruc-
tions of his unknown chptain, without exposing the
ship to great danger. The men were worn out. It
took them more than three hours to cut a passage
twenty feet long through floes four or five feet thick,
and their health was already seriously impaired. Shan-
don was also uneasy at the silence of the crew and
their unusual zeal ; he dreaded it might be the calm
which precedes a storm.

Imagine, then, the painful surprise and disappoint-
ment, even the despair, which he felt to find, through
an insensible movement of the ice-fields, the Forimrd
lost in one night the ground she had gained at the cost
of so much fatigue. On the morning of Saturday, the
18th, they were right in front of the Devil’s Thumb
again, in a more critical position than before, for the
icebergs had increased, and passed like phantoms
through the fog.

S HANDON was completely unnerved. His intrepid
heart failed him, and he, like his men, quaked for
fear. He had heard of the disappearance of the dog,
but did not dare make any inquiry, lest a mutiny should
break out.

It was terrible weather that day. A whirlwind of
snow and thick mist wrapped the brig in an impene-
trable veil. Occasionally the violent tempest would dis-
pel the fog for an instant and disclose to the terrified
gazer the gaunt, spectral form of the Devil’s Thumb.
Nothing could be done or even attempted except to
anchor on an immense floe, for the darkness momen-

tarily increased, and the man at the wheel could not
even see the officer on watch at the bows.

Shandon retired to his cabin, a prey to the most tor-
menting anxieties. The Doctor employed himself in
arranging his notes, and the sailors lounged about the
deck, or betook themselves to the forecastle. The hur-
ricane increased, and, through a sudden rift in the fog,
the Devil’s Thumb appeared slowly rising higher and
higher.

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Simpson, starting back
in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” asked Foker.

He needed no answer; for terrified outcries were
heard on all sides — one exclaiming, “It is going to
crush us!” and another, “We are lost!” and a third
called loudly for Mr, Wall and Shandon, who speedily
obeyed the summons. The Doctor followed, and for
a minute all three stood in silent amaze.

It was a most alarming spectacle. Through a par-
tial opening in the fog, the Devil’s Thumb seemed quite
close to the ship; its size increased to colossal magni-
tude, and on the summit a second cone appeared, point
downwards, as if pivoted on the first, oscillating to
and fro, and apparently about to fall on the brig and
crush her beneath its enormous weight. Instinctively,
everyone drew back, and several of the sailors jumped
down on the ice and left the ship.

“Every man to his post,” shouted Shandon, in stern
tones. “No one is to leave the ship.”

“Don’t be 'afraid, my friends,” said the Doctor,
“there is no danger. It is simply the effect of the
mirage, Mr. Shandon and Mr. Wall.”

“You are right, Mr. Clawbonny,” said Johnson.
“These silly fellows are terrified at a shadow !”

Most of the sailors came back at the Doctor’s re-
assuring words, and fear gave place to admiration, as
they stood gazing at the marvelous phenomenon, which
only lasted a few minutes longer.

“They call that a mirage,” said Clifton, “but take
my word for it, some fiend has to do with it.”

“That’s sure and certain,” said Gripper. But the
rift in the fog had revealed to Shandon’s eyes a favor-
able lead, and he determined to profit by it without
delay. He placed the men on each side of the opening.
The hawsers were thrown out to them, and the work
of tracking commenced.

They went on for many long hours, and Shandon
had the furnaces lighted to use all available means of
getting rapidly on.

“It is a providential chance,” he said to Johnson,
“and if we can only make a few miles farther, we may
be out of difficulties. The men are in a mind to work,
for they are glad to get clear of the Devil’s Thumb,
so we will take advantage of their mood as long as it
lasts.”

All of a sudden the brig ceased’ moving.

“What’s wrong. Wall?” asked Shandon. “Any of
the ropes broken?”

“No, sir,” said Wall, looking over the side, “but the
sailors are all running helter-skelter towards the ship,
and here some of them are climbing up the side as if

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

127

they were completely out of their wits with fright.”

“What’s the matter?” called Shandon, coming
towards the bows.

“Let us on board ! Let us on board !” exclaimed the
sailors in panic-stricken tones.

Shandon looked towards the north and shuddered.

A strange-looking animal, with smoking tongue hang-
ing out of enormous wide open jaws, was bounding
towards the ship, and had come within a cable’s length
of her. He seemed more than twenty feet high; his
hair stood on end, and his formidable tail, fully ten
feet long, swept the snow and sent it flying in thick
clouds. He was evidently in pursuit of the sailors,
and the apparition of such a monster was enough to
scare the bravest.

“It is a bear!” said one.

“It is a dragon !” exclaimed another.

“It is the lion in the Revelation!” suggested a third,
while Shandon ran to his cabin and seized a loaded
pistol. The Doctor armed himself with a revolver,
and stood ready to fire at the huge animal, who seemed,
from his enormous size, to belong to the antediluvian
world.

The beast came nearer, making tremendous leaps,
and Shandon and the Doctor discharged their weapons
simultaneously. An unlooked-for result followed. The
sudden explosion shook the atmosphere and changed
the entire aspect of things.

The Doctor burst out laughing, and said, “Refrac-
tion again !”

“Refraction!” exclaimed Shandon.

But the crew shouted “The dog! the dog-captain!”
and Pen thundered out, “Ah! it is the dog, always
that cursed dog!”

And the dog it really was, who had snapped his
cords and managed to get out on the ice again at an-
other seal-hole.

Refraction, which is common enough in Arctic lati-
tudes, had made him assume these formidable dimen-
sions, while the vibration in the atmosphere had re-
stored him to his original proportions. But this occur-
rence had a bad effect on the sailors, who were by no
means disposed to accept a purely physical explanation
of it. The strange phenomenon at the Devil’s Thumb,
and the reappearance of the dog under such peculiar
circumstances, brought things to a climax, and loud
murmurings were heard on all sides.

CHAPTER XII

Captain Hatteras

T he Forward steamed rapidly along through the
open channel. Johnson took the wheel himself,
and Shandon kept a vigilant look-out on the
horizon. His joy was of short duration, for he soon
saw that the channel terminated in a circle of ice moun-
tains.

However, he determined to go on and take his chance,
rather than turn back.

. The dog ran beside the brig on the ice, but kept a
good distance off. Strangely enough, however, if he

got too far behind, a peculiar whistle was heard, which
recalled him immediately.

The first time this whistle was noticed, the sailors
were all on deck. They looked about, but no Stranger
could be seen far or near, and yet the whistle was dis-
tinctly repeated several times.

Clifton was the first to sound an alarm.

“Do you hear that?” he asked; “and, look, how the
animal bounds along when he is called.”

“It is quite incredible,” replied Gripper.

“This finishes it,” exclaimed Pen. “I’ll go no
farther.”

“Pen is right,” said Brunton. “It is tempting
Heaven.”

“Tempting the fiend!” replied Clifton. “I’d rather
lose my share than go another step.”

“We shall never return,” said Bolton, in a dejected
tone.

It was clear the crew were ripe for mutiny.

“Not another step! Are we all agreed on that?”

“Yes!” -was the unanimous reply.

“Well, then,” said Bolton, “let us go to Shandon;
I’ll be spokesman.”

Off they went in a body to the poop.

The Forward was just entering at that moment 'a
vast amphitheatre, perhaps about eight hundred feet
in diameter, without a single outlet save the passage
by which they had reached it.

Shandon felt he had imprisoned his ship and himself,
but what was to be done? A heavy responsibility
rested on his shoulders.

The Doctor folded his arms and silently gazed at
the surrounding ice-walls, the average height of which
was three hundred feet.

At that moment Bolton came up with his friends,
and said in a voice trembling with excitement :

“Mr. Shandon, we cannot go farther.”

“You say that to me?” exclaimed Shandon, his cheek
crimsoning with passion.

“We say this, we have done enough for our invisible
captain, and we have made up our minds to go no
farther.”

“You have made up your minds? You speak like
that, Bolton? Take care.”

“Your threats won’t hinder us,” said Pen, rudely.

Shandon had made a few steps towards this rebel-
lious crew, when Johnson came up to him and said in
a low voice;

“If we wish to get out of this, there is not an instant
to lose. An iceberg is fast nearing the channel, which
may completely block it up, and keep lis here pris-
oners.”

After a brief survey, Shandon turned towards the
men and said :

“You shall give an account of this conduct to me
by-and-by. Meantime, turn about the ship.”

The sailors rushed to their posts. The Forward
shifted rapidly. Fresh fuel was supplied to the fur-
naces, and the engine worked at high pressure, for
everything depended on speed. It was a race between
the brig and the iceberg.

128

AMAZING STORIES

“Put on more steam!” shouted Shandon, and the
engineer obeyed at all risks, almost endangering the
safety of the brig; but his efforts were in vain. The
iceberg had been caught by some deep-sea current, and
was bearing down fast towards the passage. The brig
was still more than three cables’ length off when the
berg entered, and, adhering firmly to the ice on either
side, shut up the outlet entirely.

“We are lost !” exclaimed Shandon, imprudently.

“Lost!” re-echoed from the crew.

“Let each take care of himse!f !” said one.

“Try the boats!” said another.

“Let’s go to the stores!” said Pen. “If we are to
be drowned, we may as well drown ourselves in gin.”

The general disorder had reached its highest pitch,
and broken all bounds. Shandon felt himself power-
less. His tongue seemed palsied, and the power of
speech forsook him. The Doctor paced up and down
in an agitated manner, while Johnson folded his arms,
and maintained a stoical silence.

Suddenly a loud, commanding, impressive voice
thundered out the words :

“Every man to his post. Stop the ship!”

Johnson instinctively obeyed, and it was high time,
for the Forward was steaming along at such a rate,

' that, before another minute, it must have dashed against
. the icy walls.

But Johnson was the only man that obeyed. Shan-
I don, Clawbonny, and the entire crew, even the stoker
and the cook, assembled on deck, and they all saw a
man coming out of the captain’s cabin, the mysterious
cabin, so closely locked hitherto, the key of which was
in the captain’s sole possession. This man was none
other than the sailor Garry.

“Sir,” said Shandon, turning pale. “Garry, you — •“
what right have you to command?”

' “Duk !” called Garry, giving the same identical
whistle which had so perplexed the crew.

At the sound of his right name, the dog gave one
bound on to the poop, and stretched himself quietly at
his master’s feet. Not one of the crew said a word.
The possession of the key, the dog sent by him, which
now proved, as it were, his identity, together with the
tone of command, which it was impossible to mistake,
had a great effect on the minds of the men, and suf-
ficed to establish Garry’s authority.

Besides, Garry was hardly recognizable. He had
shaved off his big whiskers, and his face appeared
more impassive than before, and more energetic and
imperious. He was dressed now as befitted his rank,
and had the air of one who was accustomed to com-
mand.

T he crew were quite taken by storm, and, with
sailor-like mobility of character, burst out in loud
cheers for the captain, who desired Shandon to muster
them in order, as he wished to inspect them. When
they were all drawn up in file, he passed along in front
of them and had a suitable word to say to each, treat-
ing them according to their past conduct.

Then he mounted the poop, and in a calm voice said :

“Officers and sailors, I am an Englishman like your-
selves, and my motto is that of Admiral Nelson, ‘Eng-
land expects every man to do his duty.’

“As an Englishman I am unwilling, we are unwill-
ing, that any should be braver than ourselves, and
venture where we have not been. As an Englishman
it vexes me, it vexes us, that others should have the
glory of penetrating the Arctic regions farther than
we had ever penetrated them. If ever human foot
shall tread on polar ground, it must be the foot of an
Englishman. See, yonder waves your country’s flag!

I have fitted out this ship, I have consecrated my for-
tune to this enterprise, I will consecrate my life and
yours to it, but that flag shall float over the North Pole.
Have no fear. For each degree north you make from
this day you shall receive £1,000 sterling. We have
only reached the 72nd yet, and there are 90. My name
will guarantee my good faith. I am Captain Hatteras !”

“Captain Hatteras!” exclaimed Shandon.

This name had an ominous sound, for he was well
known among sailors as a man who stuck at nothing
to gain his end, and had little regard for his own or
any other man’s life.

“And now,” resumed Hatteras, “let the brig be
anchored to icebergs, and order the furnaces to be
put out. Each man resume his usual occupation ; and,
Shandon, I wish to speak with you in my cabin. I
must talk matters over with you and the IJoctor, and
Johnson and Wall. Boatswain, dismiss the men.”

And who was this Hatteras? He was the only son
of a brewer in London, who was left an immense for-
tune. He went to sea in early youth, notwithstanding
his brilliant prospects, not because he had any love for
the merchant service ; but because he had a great long-
ing after geographical discoveries. He was lean and
wiry in body, like most men of sanguine temperament,
of average height, well-knit frame, and muscles like
iron ; with a calm, rigid face, and thin, compressed lips,
and cold, though fine eyes, he looked the very personi-
fication of a man who would stick at nothing. He,
was one who would never draw back from what he hau
begun, and who would stake other men’s lives as de-
liberately as he would his own. People had need to
think twice before committing themselves to any of
his projects.

John Hatteras had all the pride of an Englishman
to excess. It was he that said one day to a French-
man, who, with true national courtesy, tried to pay
him a compliment, by declaring that if he had not heen
a Frenchman he should have wished to be an English-
man: “And I, sir, if I had not been an Englishman,
should have wished to be an Englishman.”

The speech showed the man. His most ardent de-
sire was that his country should have the monopoly
in geographical discoveries, and it was a great grief to
him that in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries Eng-
land had no place in the glorious phalanx of navigators.
True, in modern times she can boast her roll of illus-
trious names; but that was not enough to satisfy Hat-
teras; he must needs invent a country to have the
honor of finding it. He had remarked the fact, that

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

129

though the English were far behinc’ in respect of dis-
covery, there was one corner of the globe where their
efforts seemed concentrated — the Arctic regions. He
was not content with the successful search for the
North-West Passage; the pole itself must be reached,
and he had twice made the attempt in vessels equipped
at his own expense. To accomplish this was the one
purpose of his life.

After several prosperous voyages in the southern
seas, Hatteras made his first venture north by Baffin
Bay, in his sloop, the Halifax, but did not succeed in
getting higher than the 74th degree of latitude. The
sufferings of his crew were frightful, and his fool-
hardy daring was carried to such a pitch that the sailors
had little inclination for another voyage under such a
captain.

However, in 1850, Hatteras equipped a schooner, the
Farewell, and managed to enlist twenty gallant fellows
in his service, but only by throwing out the tempting
bait of high wages. It was at that time that Dr. Claw-
bonny wrote to him, requesting to take part in the
expedition; but the post of surgeon was already filled,
and fortunate it was for the Doctor.

The Farewell pushed as far north as the 76th degree,
but there she was forced to winter. The crew were
exposed to so many hardships, and the cold was so
intense, that not a man survived but John Hatteras
himself, and he was rescued by a Danish whaler, after
a march across the ice of two hundred miles.

His return alone produced a great sensation in Liver-
pool. Who would ever dare to accompany Hatteras
again in his mad attempts? Yet he himself never de-
spaired, and his father just then died, leaving him a
nabob’s fortune.

In the interim, a brig, the Advance, manned by
seventeen men, and commanded by Dr. Kane, was sent
out by Grinnell, an American merchant, for the discov-
ery of Franklin. It got as far, by Baffin Bay and Smith
Strait, as the 82nd degree — nearer the Pole than any
previous adventurers had ever gotten.

The vessel was American, Grinnell was American,
Kane was American. This fact was a great grief to
Hatteras, and the mortification of being outstripped by
the Yankees rankled in his heart. He resolved that,
come what might, he would distance them all and reach
the Pole.

For two years he had been living in Liverpool, pre-
serving a strict incognito. He passed for a sailor ; he
discovered the man he wanted in Richard Shandon,
and made proposals both to him and Dr. Clawbonny
by anonymous letters. The Forward was built, manned,
and equipped. Hatteras took care to keep his name
a secret, for he would not have found a single sailor
to follow him. He determined not to take command
of the brig unless compelled by imperative necessity,
and not till the crew had gone too far to recede. He
had also, as we have seen, kept such tempting offerings
as glittering gold in reserve, that the poor fellows could
not have refused to follow him to the world’s end.

And to the world’s end, indeed, it was that he vowed
to go.

Now that affairs had come to a crisis, John Hatteras
hesitated no longer to proclaim himself openly. His
dog, the faithful Duk, who had been the companion of
his voyages, was the first to acknowledge him, and hap-
pily for the brave, and unhappily for the timid, it
was settled beyond dispute that the captain of the
Forward was John Hatteras.

CHAPTER Kill

Captain Hatteras Discloses His Plans

T he unexpected appearance of this bold per-
sonage did not produce the same effect on all
the crew. Some rallied round him, completely
attracted by his daring or by the love of money. Others
were willing to join in the adventure, while reserving
to themselves the right of protest at some future time.
Besides, it would be no easy matter to resist such a
man.

The 20th was on a Sunday, and was kept as a day of
rest for all on board.

A council of officers was held by the captain in his
cabin, comprising Shandon, Wall, Johnson, and the
Doctor. “Gentlemen,” said Hatteras, in the gentle yet
commanding tone peculiar to him, “you are aware of
my project to reach the north pole. I desire to know
your opinion as to our chance of success.”

“My business, captain, is not to think, but to obey,”
said Shandon, coldly.

Hatteras showed no surprise at such a retort, but
replied equally coldly; “Richard Shandon, I request
your opinion at to our chance of success.”

“Well, captain,” was the answer, “facts will speak
for me. Every attempt of the kind has hitherto failed ;
I hope we may be more fortunate.”

“We shall be,” said the captain. “And you, gentle-
men, what do you think of it?”

“For my part,” returned the Doctor, “I think your
plan is practicable, and as it is evident that some day
or other the pole will be reached by navigators, I don’t
see why it should be impossible for us.”

“And there are also reasons why it should be so,”
resumed Hatteras ; “all our measures have been adopted
with a view to that end, and we shall profit by the
experience of our predecessors. By the way, Shandon,
thank you for your painstaking care in the equipment
of the ship. There are, to be sure, a few black sheep
among the crew that I must take in hand; but, on the
whole, I have nothing but praise to bestow.”

Shandon bowed stiffly. He felt his false position
acutely. Hatteras understood his silence, and did not
press him further.

“As for you, gentlemen,” he continued, addressing
Wall and Johnson, “I could not have the co-operation
of braver or more experienced officers.”

“Anyhow, captain, I’m your man,” replied Johnson ;
“and though I must say I think your enterprise a little
hazardous, you may rely on me, come what may.”
“And equally on me,” said James Wall.

“And as for you. Doctor, all I can say is, I know
your worth.”

130

AMAZING STORIES

“Well, that is more than I know,” replied the little
man, smiling.

“But now, gentlemen,” resumed Hatteras, “it is well
that you should know on what indisputable facts I
base my expectation of reaching the pole. In 1817,
the Neptune, of Aberdeen, went north from Spitz-
bergen, as far as the 82nd degree. In 1826, the cele-
brated Parry, after his third voyage in the Arctic
Seas, went also north from Spitzbergen a hundred and
fifty miles. In 1852, Captain Englefield sailed up
Smith Sound as far as the 78th degree. All these
vessels were English, and commanded by Englishmen,
our fellow-countrymen.”

Hatteras paused here, and went on in a sort of con-
strained voice, as if the words could hardly find utter-
ance. “I ought to add that, in 1854, the American,
Dr. Kane, in command of the brig Advance, got still
higher; and that Morton, his lieutenant, crossed the
ice-fields and hoisted the flag of the Union beyond the
82nd degree. Having said this, I shall not revert again
to the subject. What I wish to tell you is this: the
captains of all these vessels agree that, extending from
these latitudes, there is a polar sea entirely free from
ice.”

“Free from ice!” exclaimed Shandon; “that’s im-
possible.”

The captain’s eyes flashed for an instant, but he
replied calmly: “You will please to notice, Shandon,
that I am giving you facts and names — ”

“But, captain,” interrupted Shandon again, “the facts
are so contradictory !”

“Wrong, Shandon, wrong,” said Dr. Clawbonny;
“Science goes to support these facts, not to disprove

them, as I should like to show you, if the captain will
allow me.”

“Say on. Doctor,” said Hatteras.

“Well, Shandon, listen, then. It is clear, from
geographical facts and from the study of the isothermal
lines, that the coldest point of the globe is not at the
pole, but several degrees from it. Hence Brewster
and Bergham, and others conclude that there are two
points of greatest cold, one in Asia, in 79° 30' of north
latitude and 120° of east longitude; the other in Amer-
ica, in 78° of north latitude and 97° of west longitude.
It is this latter which concerns us ; and, you see, Shan-
don, it is situated about 12° below the pole. Now,

then, I ask you, why should not the sea at the pole
be as free from ice as it is in the summer in the 66th
parallel, that is to say, to the south of Baffin Bay?”

“Mere chimeras and suppositions ! Sheer conjec-
ture !” replied Shandon, obstinately.

“Well, Shandon, let us consider the case both ways.
Either there is a clear, open sea, or there is not. It
there is, the Forward will sail along without difficulty ;
if it is all frozen over we shall use our sledges, and
so whichever it may turn out, there is nothing to hinder
us gaining the pole. You will allow it is not imprac-
ticable; when once the brig gets as far as 83°, we have
only four hundred and twenty miles farther to go.”

“And what is that I” exclaimed the enthusiastic Doc-
tor, “when we know that a Cossack, Alexis Markoff,

traveled along the northern coast of the Russian Em-
pire over the Frozen Sea, in sledges drawn by dc^, a
distance of eight hundred miles, in twenty-four days?”

“You hear that, Shandon?” returned Hatteras; “and
now tell me if Englishmen cannot do as much as the
Cossacks ?”

“I should think so!” exclaimed Johnson and the
Doctor ; but Shandon made no reply till Hatteras said :
“Come, Shandon, tell me.”

Then he merely said in a freezing tone.

“Captain, I can only repeat what I have already
told you — I will obey.”

“Weir,” continued Hatteras, “let us look now at our
actual situation. We are caught amidst the ice, and
it seems to me impossible to get into Smith Sound
this year. This is what we had better do, then.”

He unfolded a map and spread it out on the table,
and tracing the route with his finger, said :

“Please to follow me. Although Smith Sound is
closed against us, Lancaster Sound on the west side
of Baffin Bay is not. My opinion is, that we should
enter this and go up as far as Barrow Strait, and
from thence on to Beechey Isle. Sailing vessels have
taken this course a hundred times, and certainly with
our screw it should not be more difficult, at any rate.
Once at Beechey Isle, we will get as far north as pos-
sible up Wellington Channel, and come out just at the
very point from which the open water was visible.
This is only the 20th of May; under favorable cir-
cumstances we shall be there in a month, and make it
our starting point for the pole. What is your opinion,
gentlemen ?”

“It is clearly our only course,” said Johnson.

“Well, we shall adopt it then, and start to-morrow.
Let us make this Sunday a day of rest, and be sure
that you attend, Shandon, to the regular reading of
the Scriptures with the men. These religious observ-
ances have a most salutary effect on the human spirit,
and a sailor, especially, needs to put his trust in God.”

“I will see to it,” replied Shandon, as he went away
with Johnson and Wall.

“Doctor,” said the captain, when they were left
alone, “that man, Shandon, can’t get over his mortifi-
cation ! He is eaten up with pride ; I can no longer
depend on him.”

N ext morning the boat was lowered, and Hatteras
went round in. it to examine all the icebergs in
the basin. He noticed during his survey that its dimen-
sions were constantly narrowing, owing to the slow,
steady pressure of moving ice, and that consequently
the brig would inevitably be crushed before long, unless
an immediate breach was made. The energy of the
man was shown by the plan he adopted.

His first business was to have steps cut in one of
the icebergs, and climb to the top of it. From this
elevation he saw there would not be much difficulty in
clearing a passage to the south-west. He ordered a
mine to be dug almost to the heart of the mountain,
and in the chamber of this he deposited 1,000 lbs. of
gunpowder. The blasting cylinders were only adapted

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

131

for breaking ice-fields; they would have been useless
against the towering masses by which the brig was
encircled. A gutta-percha tube containing a fuse was
carried from the chamber to the outside, and the pas-
sage communicating was filled up with snow and blocks
of ice, which the ensuing night, combined with the
action of the east wind, would make it all as solid as
granite.

All this preparation was Monday’s work, and next
morning by seven o’clock the Forward was under steam,
ready to seize the first opening to make her exit. John-
son was entrusted with the lighting of the fuse, which
was reckoned to burn for half an hour before coming
in contact with the powder. This was ample time to
ensure his safe return to the vessel. In fact, he was
back in ten minutes.

The crew were all on deck, and the weather was fine
and tolerably clear, for the snow had ceased to fall.
Hatteras stood on the poop with Shandon and the
Doctor, counting the minutes by his chronometer.

At thirty-five minutes to eight a dull explosion was
heard, far less astounding than might have been ex-
pected. The outline of the mountains suddenly changed
as in an earthquake, a thick white smoke rose towards
the sky, and long crevasses striped the side of the ice-
berg, the summit of which seemed hurled from a dis-
tance, and fell in shattered fragments round the
Forward.

But the pass was not yet open. Enormous blocks
of ice remained suspended in the air, propped up by
the adjacent mountains, and their fall would only
block up the basin still further.

Hatteras took in the situation at a glance, and calling
to the gunner, desired him to triple load the cannon.

“What ! are we going to attack the mountain with
cannon-balls?’’ asked the Doctor.

“Not exactly,” said Hatteras, “that would be useless.
No ball, Wolsten, but only a triple charge of powder.
Be quick !”

All was ready in a few minutes.

“What will he do without ball?” muttered Shandon.

“We’ll see,” said the Doctor.

But the brig was too far from the iceberg, and Hat-
teras ordered the engineer to put the screw in action.
A few turns were sufficient, and the command was
given — Fire ! A considerable explosion followed, which
caused such an atmospheric commotion that the blocks
were suddenly precipitated into the sea.

“Put on all steam possible, Brunton!” shouted the
captain; “and get right out, Johnson, into the pass?”

Johnson seized the helm, the Forward dashed through
the foaming waves, and next minute was free. It was
a sharp run for her, and she had scarcely cleared the
opening before the prison closed again behind her.

It was a moment of intense excitement, and there
was but one heart on board that beat quietly. This was
the captain’s, and the crew, unable to restrain their
feelings of admiration for him, burst out into cheers,
and shouted, “Hurrah for John Hatteras !”

On Wednesday, the 23rd of May, the Forward re-
sumed her adventurous navigation, skillfully changing

her course, so as to keep clear of packs and bergs,
thanks to her steam, that obedient power that has been
so often wanting in Arctic ships.

The temperature was rising. At 6 A. M. the ther-
mometer stood at 26 degrees, at 6 P. M. at 29, and at
midnight 25. A light breeze was blowing from the
south-east.

About three o’clock on Thursday morning the For-
ward came in sight of Possession Bay, on the coast of
America, and soon afterwards caught a glimpse of
Cape Burney. Several Esquimaux were making hard
for the ship, but Hatteras had no time to waste waiting
for them. The puffins, and ducks, and white gulls
were very numerous ; and in the distance the snowy
hoods of the Catherine and Elizabeth mountains were
visible above the clouds.

On Friday, at six o’clock. Cape Warender was
passed on the right, and Admiralty Inlet on the left.
There was a strong sea, and heavy waves frequently
dashed over the bridge.

Hatteras would have liked to keep along the northern
coast for the sake of reaching Beechey Isle sooner,
but an impenetrable barrier of ice barred his further
progress in that direction, and he was, to his great
vexation, forced to go by the south.

This was the reason why the Forward found herself
on the 26th at Cape York, easily recognized by a lofty
and almost perpendicular mountain which overlooks
it. The latitude was found on observation to be 74°
4", and the longitude 84° 23".

Hatteras opened the map, and pointed out to the
Doctor the routes they had been taking and meant to
take.

“We are in cross roads, I may call it,” he said, “open
to the wind on all sides. Here is Lancaster Sound,
Regent Inlet, Wellington Channel, and Barrow Strait.”

“It is a wonder to me how navigators know which
route to take, when they have all four to choose from.”

“Believe me there is little choice in the matter.
Sometimes Barrow Strait is closed one year and open
the next, and sometimes there is no passage at all but
through Regent Inlet.”

“How the wind blows!” said the Doctor, drawing
his hood closer over his head.

“Yes, the north wind especially; it is so strong as
to drive us out of our course.”

“Well, but if it does that, it surely ought to drive
the ice south, and clear the way.”

“It ought, but the wind doesn’t always do what it
ought. Look at that ice-field ahead ; it looks perfectly
impenetrable, and yet we must try to find some open-
ing, for get to Beechey Isle I must at any rate, to
replenish our stock of coal.”

“Can you get coal there?” asked the Doctor, in
astonishment.

“Most certainly. By order of the Admiralty, great
stores were deposited there for the benefit of future
e.xpeditions ; and though McClintock may have availed
himself of them in 1859, there will be some left for
us, I assure you.”

“The Admiralty always kept five or six ships out

132

AMAZING STORIES

here, I believe, till it was proved beyond a doubt that
the whole of Franklin’s ill-fated expedition had
perished.”

“Yes, they did. For fifteen years these regions
were being explored, and one good result has followed
anyway — our knowledge of the polar seas has greatly
increased.”

“It could hardly be otherwise, seeing the number of
expeditions since 1848, when the first alarm was raised
about the missing ships. Since McClintock returned
in the Fox, however, not another vessel has ventured
to try her fortune in those dangerous seas.”

“Well, we’ll try ours,” said Hatteras, “come what
may.”

CHAPTER XIV
The “Forward” Driven South

T he weather cleared towards evening, and the
shore became visible between Cape Sepping and
Cape Clarence. The sea was open towards Re-
gent Inlet, but as if the Fates had conspired against
the Forward’s progress north, there was still an im-
passable barrier of ice, which shut them out from Port
Leopold.

Hatteras, who was extremely annoyed, though he
did not show it outwardly in the least degree, had to
fall back on his powder again to force an entrance, but
he succeeded in getting in by mid-day on Sunday, the
27th of May, and safely moored his brig to great ice-
bergs hard and solid as rocks.

A few minutes afterwards he jumped down on the
ice and went ashore, followed by the Doctor and John-
son, and the faithful Duk, who was almost frantic with
joy at being on land again. He had grown much more
sociable and gentle since his master was acknowledged
captain, reserving his animosity for certain members
of the crew, who were no greater favorites with him
than they were with Hatteras.

The port inside was unusually free from ice, and the
steep perpendicular cliffs were gracefully wreathed
with snow. The house and beacon constructed by
James Ross were still in a tolerable state of preserva-
tion, but the provisions had been ransacked by the
foxes and bears, and showed marks of recent visits
from them. Likely enough, two-footed marauders had
been there too, for ruins of Esquimaux huts were vis-
ible about the bay.

The six graves, marked by little hillocks, where six
of the crews of the Enterprise and Investigator lay
burled, remained intact, respected alike by man and
beast.

It is impossible to set foot for the first time on
Arctic ground without a feeling of peculiar emotion,
as one relic and another is discovered, and the excit-
able little Doctor was almost overcome.

“Look!” he said to his companions; “there is the
house that James Ross called The Camp of Refuge!’
If Franklin’s Expedition had reached this spot it would
have been saved. There is the very engine Ross left
behind, too, and the stove where the crew of the Albert
warmed themselves in 1851, looking just as if Kennedy,

the captain, had only quitted the place yesterday ! And
there is the boat that sheltered him and his party for
several days when they got separated from the ship,
and must have perished but for Lieutenant Bellott,
who set out to seek them, even though it was October.”

“I knew Bellott,” said Johnson, “and a brave, noble
officer he was.”

While the Doctor was pursuing his investigations
with all the enthusiasm of an antiquary, Hatteras was
busily exploring in all directions for food and fuel,
though he met with small success. The next day was
employed in carrying what he had found to the ship.
The Doctor meantime continued his rambles, taking
care not to get too far away. He sketched a good
many of the principal objects of interest, and man-
aged to make a pretty fair collection of the different
varieties of Arctic birds. He also saw several large
seals, lying by their breathing-hole on the ice, but could
not shoot any of them. During one of his excursions,
he discovered a large stone with this inscription on it:

(E. 1.)

1849.

These were the initials of the Enterprise and Inves-
tigator, a memento left behind of their voyage. He
went on as far as Cape Clarence, where John and James
Ross waited, in 1833, so impatiently, for the breaking
up of the ice. The ground was strewn over with bones
and the skulls of animals, and traces were seen of Es-
quimaux huts.

The Doctor was thinking of setting up a cairn at
Port Leopold, with a written statement in it of the ar-
rival of the Forward, and the object of the expedition,
but Hatteras was so decidedly opposed to leaving any
indications whatever of their progress, lest some rival
should take advantage of them, that the Doctor had to
abandon his project. Shandon greatly blamed the cap-
tain’s infatuation, as, in the event of any misfortune
happening to the Forward, no vessel could go to her
rescue.

But Hatteras would listen to no reason, and the mo-
ment loading was completed, he recommenced his ef-
forts to break through the ice. After many dangerous
attempts, however, he was forced to give it up, and go
back the way he came, through Regent Inlet, for he
would not winter in Port Leopold for anything. It
was open meantime, certainly, but a sudden dislodgment
of the ice-fields might close them in at any moment.

Hatteras was almost distracted with anxiety, though
there was no outward manifestation of it. He had no
alternative but to turn his ship and go south, come
what might.

Regent Channel is about the same width the whole
extent from Port Leopold to Adelaide Bay. The For-
ward was more fortunate than most ships, for she made
an uninterrupted passage through, thanks to her steam,
instead of beating about for a month or more, often
driven back by contrary winds.

Most of the crew were well content to turn their
backs on the north. They had no sympathy with the
captain’s project of reaching the pole — indeed, they
were almost terrified at him, dreading what next he

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

133

might attempt, for they knew how little he cared for
consequences.

I T was evening when the brig came in sight of Edwin
Bay, easily recognized by its high perpendicular
rocks ; and the next morning she saw Batty Bay in the
distance, where the Prince Albert spent her long dreary
winter.

The Doctor and Johnson, perhaps, were the only
individuals on board who took any interest in the coun-
try. Hatteras was always poring over his charts, and
hardly spoke a word. The farther south they went,
the more taciturn he became, often sitting on the poop
for hours together, with folded arms, gazing gloomily
on the horizon. He gave his orders in the fewest words
possible and in sharp, stern tones. Shandon kept him-
self aloof as much as he could, and gradually withdrew
from all intercourse with Hatteras beyond what actual
business required. James Wall was still devoted to
Shandon, and faithfully copied his example. The rest
of the crew were watching the course of events, ready
to take the side that would be best for their own inter-
ests. There was no longer on the ship that unity of
purpose and interchange of sentiment which is so
necessary for the accomplishment of great things. Hat-
teras knew this well.

Two whales were seen during the day, and a white
bear, but time was too precious to waste in pursuit of
that kind, though a few ineffectual shots were fired.

On Wednesday morning the extremity of the inlet
was reached, and the brig pursued her course, keeping
along the west coast round a point, which, on referring
to the chart, the Doctor found was Somerset House, or
Fury Point.

“This, then,” he said to Johnson, “is the very point
where the Fury was so broken by the ice in 1815 that
she had to be abandoned, and her crew went on board
her consort, the Hecia, and returned home to England.”

“That is the advantage of having a second ship, you
see,” replied Johnson; “but Captain Hatteras is not the
man to be fettered with a companion !”

“Do you think that it is imprudent of him, John-
son?” asked Clawbonny.

“I ? I think nothing about it. Dr. Clawbonny. Stop !
Do you see those stakes on the shore, with tattered
rags hanging on them, as if a tent had once been there?”

“Yes, Johnson ; it was there that Parry disembarked
his ship’s stores ; and, if my memory is correct, the roof
of the house he built was made of a topsail, laced over
with the running rigging of the Fury.”

“But that was in 1825. It must be very much
changed since then.”

“Not altogether though, Johnson. In 1829, John
Ross found in that little frail hut, life and health for
his crew. In 1851, when Prince Albert sent out an
expedition, it was still standing. Captain Kennedy had
it repaired, and that was nine years ago. It would be
an interesting memorial to go ashore and examine, but
Hatteras is not in the mood to stop!”

“And there is no doubt he is right, Dr. Clawbonny.
If time is money in England, out here it is salvation ;

and to stop a day — ay, even an hour — might ruin a
voyage. Let him act as he thinks right.”

On Thursday, the 1st of June, the weather became
milder, the thermometer rising to thirty-two degrees.
Summer made its influence felt even in those Arctic
regions, and the men were glad to lay aside some of
their winter coverings.

Towards evening, the Forward doubled Cape Garry,
about a quarter of a mile from shore, and went on to
Brentford Bay, keeping as close to the coast as pos-
sible, for the fog had increased with the heat, and a
close watch was necessary for the discovery of Bellot
Strait. It was somewhere in this latitude, but, if closed
by ice, so perfectly undistinguishable from the land,
that Sir John Ross never suspected its existence even
in 1828, and, though he noted down and named the
smallest irregularities with the greatest care on his
charts, he made this one continuous coast.

It was Captain Kennedy who really discovered the
Straits in 1852, and called them after the French offi-
cer, as a just tribute of gratitude for the important
services he had rendered the expedition.

CARTER XV

The Magnetic Pole

T he nearer Hatteras approached the Strait, the
more his anxiety increased. He felt the fate of
his voyage was about to be decided, for though he
had outstripped all his predecessors up to this time, as
even McClintock, the most fortunate of them, had taken
fifteen months to reach the same place, it mattered little,
indeed nothing, if he could not succeed in getting
through Bellot Strait.

He would trust the look-out to no one, but went up
to the “crow’s-nest” himself, and stayed there the
greater part of Saturday morning.

The crew understood perfectly their critical position,
and preserved an unbroken silence. The engine had
slackened speed, and the brig kept to the shore as closely
as possible ; but it needed a practiced eye to discover the
least opening among those close packs.

Hatteras was comparing his charts and the coast.
The sun broke out for a brief instant before noon, and
Shandon and Wall managed to take a pretty correct
observation, which they reported aloud to Hatteras.

It was a trying morning for all; but at last, about
two o’clock, a cry resounded from the mast-head :

“To the west, and put on steam!”

The brig instantly obeyed. She turned her prow in
the given direction, and rushed forward between two
ice-streams.

The entrance was found, and Hatteras gave up his
post to the ice-master, and came down on the poop.

“Well, captain,” said the Doctor, “we have actually,
entered this famous strait at last.”

“Yes,” replied Hatteras, lowering his voice, “but it is
not enough to enter. We have to get out again.”

Without another word he turned, and walked off to
his cabin.

“He is right,” said the Doctor, “for we are in a

134

AMAZING STORIES

mouse-trap, without much room to do anything ; and if
we are blocked in for the winter, well, we are not the
first that have got into this same fix. The others got
out, so I suppose we shall, too!”

The Doctor was right. It was in that very place that
McClintock wintered in 1858, and the little dock was
then in sight. He found shelter there and called it
Port Kennedy.

Bellot Strait is about a mile wide and seventeen
long, with a current running from six to seven knots.
It is encased in mountains calculated at 1,600 feet high.
The Forward had to proceed cautiously, but still she
made progress. Storms are frequent in such a narrow
space, and the brig did not escape heavy seas and strong
squalls of wind. In spite of every precaution taken by
the captain in reefing and taking in sails, it was an
enormous strain on the ship. It was impossible almost
to stand on deck, and most of the men studied their own
comfort, and went off, leaving Hatteras with Shandon
and Johnson. The little Doctor did not feel any more
inclination than the sailors to brave the snow and rain,
but, acting on his old rule, always to do that which is
most disagreeable to him, he went up to bear the others
company; and since he could not hear himself speak,
and even barely see himself, he was obliged to keep
his reflections for his own benefit.

He found Hatteras trying to pierce through the cur-
tain of fog before him, for, according to his reckoning,
they ought to have come to the end of the strait by
six o’clock ; but no outlet was visible, and the only thing
that could be done was to anchor the ship fast to an
iceberg, and wait till morning.

It was fearful weather; every instant it seemed as
if the Forward would snap her chains, and there was
great danger of the iceberg itself giving way beneath
the violence of the west wind, and drifting along, ship
and all. The officers were on the qid mve the whole
night, and felt the gravest apprehensions. There was
not only a perfect blizzard of snow, but showers of hail
were lashed up by the hurricane from the ice-fields ;
the whole atmosphere was, as it were, bristling with
sharp arrows.

Strangely enough, there was a great rise in the tem-
perature during this fearful night. The thermometer
stood at 57°, and the Doctor, to his great surprise,
thought he saw several flashes of lightning in the south,
followed by very distant thunder.

About five in the morning, the weather changed again
with astonishing rapidity, and the thermometer fell to
freezing point. The wind veered north, and became
calm. The western opening of the strait was now vis-
ible enough, but it looked entirely blocked up. Hatteras
almost doubted whether it had ever been the opening.

However, the brig got under way again, and glided
slowly along between the ice-streams, crushing the edges
of the packs against her side planking. The packs were
still six to eight feet thick, and the utmost care was
necessary to avoid coming into collision with any of
them.

At noon, and for the first time, a magnificent solar
phenomenon was observed, a halo with two parhelia.

The Doctor took the exact dimensions : the outer corona
was only visible for about 30° on each side of the hori-
zontal diameter. The two images of the sun were re-
markably distinct. The colors of both the arches were
red nearest the sun, and then yellow, green, and very
pale blue, fading into white outside.

Old sailors in the Arctic seas generally consider this
phenomenon the presage of a heavy snowfall. Should
their opinion prove correct, it would place the Forward
in a still more awkward position. Hatteras felt that
everything depended on getting forward without delay.
He spent the remainder of the day and the whole of the
night following on deck, without allowing himself a
moment’s rest, seeking for some practicable lead.

But next morning, when the Doctor joined him on
the poop, he beckoned him right away to the after part
of the ship, where they were quite out of ear-shot, and
said :

“We are caught 1 It is impossible to get any farther.”

“Impossible?” asked the Doctor.

“Yes, impossible! All the powder in the Forward
would not gain a quarter of a mile for us.”

“What’s to be done, then?”

“Who knows? Confound this weather. It is an ill-
omened year.”

“Well, captain, if we must winter here, we must —
that’s all! As well here as anywhere else.”

“True enough!” said Hatteras, in a low voice; “but
we must not winter, especially in the month of June.
Wintering at all is full of moral and physical danger.
A crew soon becomes enervated by inactivity, combined
with positive suffering, and I had made up my mind
not to winter till we were in a much more northerly
latitude.”

“But Fate decreed that Baffin Bay should be closed.”

‘Ay ! and it could open for others — for that Ameri-
can!” exclaimed Hatteras, angrily.

“Come, Hatteras,” said the Doctor ; “this is only the
5th of June. Don’t let us despair. A sudden opening
may occur. You know the tendency of the ice to
separate, even in calm weather. Perhaps in less than
an hour there may be a free outlet.”

“I wish it may be so. We would soon get through
it, and once outside this strait, we may be able to go
north again by Peel Strait, or the McClintock Chan-
nel. Then we ”

“Captain,” said James Wall, interrupting him sud-
denly, “our rudder runs the risk of being torn away
by the packs.”

“Well, it must take its chance; I cannot have it re-
moved. I wish to be ready at any hour, both day and
night. See that it is protected as much as possible, Mr.
Wall, by avoiding coming into contact with the ice; but
let it remain in its place, remember.”

“But — — ” said Wall.

“I wish for no remarks, sir!” said Hatteras, sternly.
“Go.”

W ALL returned to his post, and Hatteras ex-
claimed passionately:

“Oh ! I would give five years of my life to find my-

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

135

self at the north. I know no passage that is more dan-
gerous than this, and to increase the difficulty, now
that we are getting near the magnetic pole, the com-
pass there is not acting properly, the needle seems get-
ting lazy or foolish, for it is constantly shifting its di-
rection.”

“I must confess it is perilous navigation now ; but,
after all, everyone who joined the expedition knew the
dangers he had to expect, so he needn’t be surprised.”

“Ah, Doctor, my crew are very much changed, and,
as you have just heard, the officers begin to set up their
opinion. The pecuniary advantages offered to the sail-
ors made them engage in the service; but the worst of
it is, when men join like that, all they care for is to
get home again, and be paid as quickly as possible.
Then, too, I am not seconded by my officers as I
ought to be. Doctor. If I fail in my undertaking, it
will not be the fault of such and such a sailor, but
through the ill-will of certain officers. Ah, won’t I
make them pay dearly for it !”

“Hatteras, you are exaggerating.”

“I am not exaggerating in the least. Do you believe
the sailors are sorry we cannot get north? On the con-
trary, they rejoice in my difficulties, thinking I shall
be forced to relinquish my project. That is the secret
of our hearing no grumbling just now. As long as
the Forward has her beak headed to the south, they are
all ready enough to work. The fools! They fancy
they are always nearer England I But if I succeed in
getting north, you will see things change. However, I
swear that not a single human being will make me go
out of my track. Let me only find the smallest open-
ing to get my brig through, and in she’ll go, even if
she has to leave her copper bottom behind her.”

The captain was destined to get his wishes partially
realized, for in the course of the evening, as the Doctor
had said, there was a sudden change. The ice-fields
cracked and opened, and the Forward boldly dashed in
between them, crushing the loose ice with her metal
stem. She went without stopping all night, and next
morning, about six o’clock, got outside the strait.

But what was the captain’s secret vexation to find
the way to the north still obstinately shut against him.
He had sufficient self-command to conceal his despair,
and as if the only route open had been the very one
he preferred, he sailed down Franklin Strait; not
being able to get north by Peel Strait, he determined
to go round the point and up the McClintock Channel.
But he felt that.Shandon and Wall were not deceived;
they well understood his bitter disappointment.

For thirty-six hours the Forzvard followed the wind-
ings of the Coast of Boothia, without getting near
Prince of Wales Island. Hatteras raised the steam,
burning away the coals in prodigal fashion, always hop-
ing to replenish the store at Beechey Island. On Thurs-
day he reached the extremity of Franklin Strait, and
again found the route to the north barred against him.

His situation was hopeless now. He could not even
go back, for the heavy packs were pushing him con-
tinually forward, and what had been open water but an
hour before, was now solid ice.

It was a terrible predicament for the Forward, for
she could not get north, and yet dared not stop for
fear of a crush.

All that she could do was to flee as if it were before
a storm.

On Friday, the 8th of June, he arrived at the mouth
of James Ross Strait, one which he must avoid at any
cost, for it had no outlet except to the west, right on the
American coast. The longitude here was found to be
90° 46' 45", and the latitude 70° S' 17”. On referring
to the map, the Doctor discovered they had reached
the magnetic pole, for this was the very part where
it had been discovered by James Ross.

The shore near the coast was flat, rising in the back-
ground a mile from the sea to a height of about sixty
feet.

Finding that the boiler needed to be cleaned, the cap-
tain anchored his brig to the ice, and allowed the Doctor
and Johnson to go ashore. As for himself, he felt no
interest in anything that was not immediately connected
with his projects, and only cared to shut himself up in
his cabin and pore over his charts.

The Doctor and his companion were soon on land,
carrying a compass with them for their experiments.
The Doctor wished to test for himself the accuracy of
James Ross’s observations. He easily discerned the
heap of chalk stones he had set up, and on hastening
towards it, perceived through an opening the identical
tin case in which he had deposited a minute account of
his discovery. Not a single human being seemed to
have visited this dreary coast for thirty long years !

If a magnetized needle is suspended here as delicately
as possible, it will immediately assume an almost ver-
tical position under the magnetic influence. The center
of attraction then, if not exactly below the needle, must
be but a very short distance off.

The Doctor made his experiments with the utmost
care, and was more successful than even James Ross,
who could never get a higher declination for his vertical
needle than 89° 59', owing to the imperfection of his
instruments, while Dr. Clawbonny had the extreme sat-
isfaction of seeing his needle indicate a declination of
exactly 90°.

“This, then,” he said, tapping the ground with his
foot, “is the actual magnetic pole of our globe.”

“Is it just here?” asked Johnson.

“In this precise spot.”

“I suppose then it is all nonsense to talk about a
magnetic mountain, or a mass of lodestone !”

“Yes, my good fellow, it is all ‘old wives’ fables.’ As
you see for yourself, there is not a sign of a mountain
endowed with the power of attracting ships, and tear-
ing away their iron, down to anchors and nails. Even
your boots do not feel any heavier, as if they were
dragging you down, do they? You can walk as easily
here as anywhere else.”

“But how can it be explained?”

“It can’t be explained. We are not learned enough
for that yet. But this one thing is an ascertained mathe-
matical fact — the magnetic pole is here, in this very
place.”

136

AMAZING STORIES

“Ah! Dr. Clawbonny, what would the captain give
if he could say as much of the north pole ?”

“He will say it some day, Johnson, that he will.”

“I fervently hope he may.”

Just at this moment the signal was made for their
return, and after hastily erecting a cairn to mark the
exact spot, they hurried back to the brig.

CHAPTER XVI

The Story of Sir John Franklin

T he Forward succeeded in cutting right across
the James Ross Strait, but it was only done by
dint of saws and petards, and at the cost of great
fatigue of the crew. Fortunately the temperature was
bearable; 30° higher than James Ross had found it at
the same time of the year. The thermometer stood at
34°.

On Saturday, Cape Felix was doubled, at the ex-
treme point of King William’s Island. The sight of
this island made a deep impression on the minds of the
men, and they gazed with mournful interest at the
coast as they sailed along. This was the theater of one
of the most terrible tragedies the world has ever seen,
for, only a few miles to the west, the Erebus and Terror
•were lost.

Johnson and the Doctor were going over the par-
ticulars of the sad catastrophe as the vessel fled swiftly
on, and bays and promontories passed before the eye
like same vast panorama. Several of the sailors, over-
hearing the subject of conversation, drew nearer to
listen, and before long the Doctor had the whole crew
round him. Seeing their eager curiosity, and knowing
what an impression the recital would make under such
circumstances, the Doctor recommenced his narrative.

“You know, I suppose, my good fellows,” he said,
“the early history of Franklin. He was a cabin-boy,
like Cook and Nelson, and, after serving during his
youth in several great expeditions, he determined, in
1845, to prosecute a search for the North-West passage.
He was in command of the Erebus and Terror, two
ships that had been previously employed in an Arctic
expedition undertaken by James Ross. The Erebus
carried seventy sailors, including the officers, with Fitz-
James as captain; Gore and Vesconte as lieutenants;
Des Voeux, Sargent and Couch as quartermasters ; and
Stanley as surgeon. The Terror numbered sixty-eight
men. Her captain was Crozier; the lieutenants. Little,
Hodgson, and Irving; quartermasters, Horesby and
Thomas; and surgeon, Peddie. Not one of these ill-
fated individuals ever returned to their native land, but
you may read nearly all their names on the different
bays, and capes, and straits, and points, and channels,
and islands that are met with in this region. There
were 138 men altogether. The last letters received
from Franklin were dated July 12th, 1845, and written
from Disko Island. T hope,’ he wrote, ‘to weigh an-
chor to-night for Lancaster Sound.’ What has hap-
pened since his departure from Disko? The last time
the ships were seen was in Melville Bay, by the cap-
tains of the Prince of Wales and the Enterprise, two

whalers; and since then there has been no word of
them. We are able to follow Franklin, however, in
some of his subsequent movements. He went to the
west, and up Barrow Strait and Lancaster Sound, as
far as Beechey Island, where he spent the winter of
1845.”

“But how was that ascertained?” asked Bell, the
carpenter.

“By three graves discovered by the Austin expedi-
tion in 1850, in which three of Franklin’s sailors were
interred; and also by a document fovind by Lieutenant
Hobson, of the Fox, which is dated 1848. From this we
learn that, at the close of the winter, the Erebus and
Terror went up Wellington Channel as far as the 77th
parallel; but, instead of continuing their route to the
north, which was doubtless found to be impracticable,
they returned south.”

“And it was their ruin,” said a grave voice. “Sal-
vation was in the north.”

Everyone turned to see who was the speaker. It
was Hatteras, leaning against the railing of the poop,
who made his home-thrust at the crew.

“There is no doubt,” continued the Doctor, “that
Franklin’s intention was to reach the American coast;
but he was overtaken by furious tempests, and both
ships got caught in the ice a few miles from this, and
were dragged N.N.E. of Point Victory. But the ships
were not abandoned till the 22nd of April, 1848. What
happened during those nineteen months ? What did the
poor fellows do with themselves all that time? No
doubt they explored the country, and tried their utmost
to reach a place of safety, for Franklin was a man
of great energy, and if his measures were unsuccess-
ful ”

“It was, perhaps, his crew who proved false to him ?”
again interrupted Hatteras, in a hollow voice.

No one dared to look up, for the cap fitted. The Doc-
tor resumed his narrative, and said :

“The document I have mentioned gives the addi-
tional information of the death of Sir John Franklin.
He sank under his fatigues on the 11th of June, 1847.
Honor to his memory,” he added, baring his head re-
spectfully.

All the men silently followed his example. After a
pause, Doctor Clawbonny went on to say:

“What became of the men after their admiral’s
death? Ten months elapsed before they forsook the
ship, and the survivors then numbered one hundred and
five men. Thirty-three were dead ! A cairn was erected
on Point Victory by order of the captains, Crozier and
Fitz-James, and in it this, their last document was de-
posited. See, we are just passing the very place. You
will see the remains of this cairn on the very extremity
of the point. And there is Cape Jane Franklin, and
there is Point Franklin, where they found the boat
made out of pieces of one of the ships and laid on a
sledge. They also discovered silver spoons there, and
tea and chocolate, besides religious books and provisions
in abundance. For the hundred and five survivors, un-
der the guidance of Captain Crozier, set out for the
great Fish River. How far did they get? Did they

THE ENGLISH AT THE NORTH POLE

131

reach Hudson Bay- Do any of them still survive?
Who can say what has become of them all now.

“I can say what has become of them,” replied John
Hatteras, in loud, ringing tones. “Yes, they did reach
Hudson Bay, and divided into several parties. They
took the route south, and in 1850 a letter of Dr. Rae
mentioned the fact that on this very island before us,
the Esquimaux fell in with a detachment of forty men
hunting seals over the ice, dragging a boat with them,
and looking pale and haggard, worn out with suffering
and fatigue. And subsequently thirty corpses were
found on the mainland, and five on an adjacent isle,
some half buried, and some lying quite exposed ; others
under a boat turned upside down, and others still un-
der the remains of a tent; here an officer, with his
telescope on his shoulder and his loaded gun beside
him, and not far off cauldrons with the fragments of a
ghastly sickening meal.

“On the receipt of this intelligence, the Admiralty
requested the Hudson Bay Company to dispatch ex-
perienced men to search the entire region. They ex-
plored the whole of the Black River to its mouth. They
visited the islands of Montreal, Manconochie, and Point
Ogle. But it was all in vain. Every one of the hap-
less company was dead! Dead from starvation, and
pain and misery, after making a horrible attempt to
prolong their wretched lives by cannibalism! This is
what has become of them. The route south is strewed
with their mangled remains! 1 Do you still desire to
walk in their footsteps?”

The thrilling voice and impassioned gestures and
earnest face of Hatteras produced an indescribable
effect on the men, and, carried away by their emotion,
they shouted with one accord :

“To the North! To the North!”

“To the North, then, we’ll go, my men! Safety and
glory lie there! Heaven is on our side; the wind has
shifted! The channel is open, turn about the ship!”

The sailors rushed to their posts, the Forward was
soon making at full speed for the McClintock Channel.

Hatteras was right, the ice had given way, and the
ship found her passage almost unobstructed. On the
14th of June she had gone beyond Osborn Bay, and
farther than any of the expeditions of 1851. The ice-
packs were still numerous, but she never lacked water
beneath her keel.

CHAPTER XVII
The Route to the North

T he crew had apparently returned to their good
habits of discipline and obedience. Their work
was not fatiguing now, and they had abundance
of leisure. The temperature still remained above the
freezing point.

Duk, who had grown quite friendly and sociable,
struck up the closest friendship with Dr. Clawbonny.
They were on the best possible terms, though it must
be confessed Duk was quite master, and made the little
Doctor do whatever he pleased. Towards the crew,
too, and officers generally, Duk was amiable enough.

except towards Shandon, and from him he always ran
away as fast as he could, doubtless impelled by some
secret instinct. He also kept a sharp tooth for Pen
and Warren; and what a tooth it was! He growled
whenever they came near, though they never again at-
tempted to lay a finger on him. No one dared to touch
the captain’s “familiar spirit,” as Clifton called the dog.

On the whole, however, the confidence of the men
seemed restored, and they were behaving well.

“It looks as if the crew had laid the captain’s words
to heart,” remarked Wall to Shandon one day. “They
don’t appear now to have any misgivings about suc-
cess.”

“They are wrong,” said Shandon ; “if they were only
to reflect and examine their situation, they would see
we are going from one imprudent step to another.”

“And yet,” returned Wall, “the sea is certainly more
open, and we are going on no untried route. Are you
not exaggerating, Shandon?”

"No, Wall, I am not ; the hatred or jealousy, if you
choose to call it so, which I feel towards Hatteras, has
not blinded my eyes. Tell me, have you been down to
see how the coals stand?”

“No,” replied Wall.

“Well, just you go, and you will see how fast our
stock is diminishing. The rule with us should have
been to rely on our sails mainly, reserving the screw
for special occasions when the wind was contrary, or
there were strong opposing currents ; our combustibles
ought to be husbanded wjth the most rigid economy, for
who knows where we may be driven, or how long we
may be frozen up in these seas? But Hatteras, in his
frenzied ambition to push north and reach the inac-
cessible pole, never troubles himself about such small
matters. Whether the wind is for or against us, he
must have all the steam up, and if he goes on much
longer in the same fashion, we stand a chance of finding
ourselves in a pretty fix some day, and even in danger
of our total loss.”

“If what you say is true, Shandon, the case is seri-
ous,” replied Wall.

“Yes, Wall, very serious ; not merely for the engine,
which would be utterly useless without coal, just per-
haps when we most needed it; but for ourselves, too.
when we think of having to winter here, which we cer-
tainly must do, soon or late. One needs to think of cold
a little in a country where the quicksilver even freezes
in the thermometer.”

“But, if I am not mistaken, Shandon, the captain is
reckoning on replenishing his stock at Beechey Island.
He can get an abundance of fuel there.”

“Can people go just where they choose. Wall, in these
seas ? Can we ever reckon on finding the straits open ?
And supposing he should miss the island, or be unable
to get to it, what will become of us?”

“You are right, Shandon. It is certainly imprudent
of Captain Hatteras, but why don’t you talk to him on
the subject.”

“No, Wall,” said Shandon, with ill-concealed bitter-
ness, “I have made up my mind to be silent. I have
{Continued on page 171)

^ GA

'Ey Stanton A. Coblentx

Author of: “The Sunken World”

j|N all respects but one, there was nothing
unprecedented about the ball of fire that
startled the western hemisphere toward the
end of the year 1968. A meteor of excep-
tional brilliancy, it was first observed some-
where far above the Arizona desert, traveling westward
at a prodigious speed ; and a few seconds later, after
terrifying the natives of Southern California with its
baleful red light, long phosphorescent trail and ominous
hissing, it went to its rest on a forsaken beach of the
Pacific. For ten or twelve days it was not even known
where it had struck; observers generally were of the
opinion that it had plunged into the ocean ; and while
newspapers bore a flaming account of the event and
even the scientific journals took some note of it, astron-
omers were agreed that phenomena as spectacular had
been observed before : as witness the records of innum-
erable fireballs, beginning with that declared by Plu-
tarch to have fallen in Thrace as far back as the year
470 B. C.

Had it not been for a chance observation, the theory
that the meteor had vanished beneath the waves might
long have remained current. But it happened that
Clifton Herrick, an aviator flying low over the coast
in the Intercontinental War, noticed an enormous
mound or crater of earth reminding him of the shell-
hole made by an exploding projectile, except that it
was incomparably vaster than any shell-hole he had
ever seen. Though its depth was not more than a
score of yards, it measured between a quarter and a
third of a mile from rim to

rim. Herrick’s first theory

was that it indicated some
previously unexplained vol-
canic action; and this view
was apparently confirmed
by the seething heat that
drove him away when he at-
tempted to approach closely,
and by the scorched and
withered state of the once- ————————

abundant beach-grass sur-
rounding the place. Military experts, however, when
told of the discovery, were of opinion that it repre-
sented some nefarious device by the foe; and only
after the cautious investigation by the War Department
did the astonishing truth reveal itself. A scientist of
the investigating party, attracted by scattered masses
of iron of a telltale composition, proclaimed that the
eruption incontestably was of meteoric origin : the larg-
est meteorite ever seen to fall by man lay buried here
on the sea-coast !

Even so, the announcement occasioned no great

/ T Is not always an army or warfare of the most destructive
kind that is most dangerous. The author of "The Sunken
World," has conceived an entirely new menace — which is
nothing less than a vegetable visitor from outer space. There
are dwers ways in which such a visitor might come to the
earth — not the least possible means being a meteorite. It is
a strange menace and almost impossible to combat.

Aside from its literary interest, this story is unusually rich
in its scientific aspects.

flurry. The world at that moment was engaged so
busily in the practice of war, that scientific observations
of a non-military nature aroused but passing interest.
Little did men dream of the transcendent importance
of this particular bit of scientific news ! Little did they
suspect that it was to prove more momentous than any
war that man had ever waged ! There were none who
foresaw the gruesome, unthinkable events that were
to convulse the world within the next year or two ; for
there were none who, at that day, could have known
of the one respect in which that meteorite was different
from all its predecessors, and of the tragic significance
of the single point of variance.

Ignorant of the peril that they were releasing upon
their fellows, a small group of scientists began a minute
investigation of the meteorite. As soon as it had cooled
sufficiently to permit them to work in comfort, they
undertook their excavations, burrowing on all sides
and even beneath the enormous mass, and at the same
time blowing off some huge fragments by means of
dynamite. These they subjected to chemical analysis,
finding them to be composed of the same alloy of iron
and nickel as that of countless smaller meteorites. It
was only after they had penetrated deep down into the
fallen mass that they discovered anything of scientific
note ; and then the observations, while unusual, did not
seem in any way significant. At a depth of about forty
feet, the dynamite of the excavators revealed a rich
vein of some quartz-like rock — not precisely like any
terrestrial quartz in appearance, yet of a flinty hardness
and of the same chemical
- composition as q u a>rt z.
What was more important
• — but what the observers, in
their haste, did not note un-
til later — was that thou-
sands of mi n,u t e. black
specks were embedded in
the quartz, no larger than
pinpoints and presenting
under the microscope a
^ooth polished surface
and a shape not unlike that of the common bean. Had
any of ’the scientists at that time taken notice of the
black particles, he would probably not have been im-
pressed, for they would have seemed to him to be min-
eral matter of no extraordinary nature; and no steps,
accordingly, would have been taken to prevent them
from escaping in their myriads into the world at large.
And this is profoundly regrettable, for it means that,
once the dynamite had released the unsuspected peril,
no human agency would be able to check it at its source,
or prevent its spreading.

138

For, after they had alighted from their airplane and started on foot for the plants, they encountered an unexpected obstacle
Then suddenly an extraordinary thing happened . . . the foremost of the scientists reeled, gasped, and sank with a deep

sigh to the earth.

139

140

AMAZING STORIES

W EEKS went by. The world, unaffected, hastened
fiercely about its other affairs. The Intercon-
tinental War was blazing more hotly than any other
conflict in history ; the great trans-Pacific invasion was
being undertaken, with the loss of a hundred million
lives in India and China; airplanes were laying waste
the leading cities of the Pacific seaboard, and poison
gas was annihilating whole populaces in Australia and
western Europe ; and mankind, with one half of the
white race and one half of the yellow race ranged
against the other half of the white race and the other
half of the yellow, was waging a desperate and appar-
ently losing battle for existence. Had any one sug-
gested that, while the guns were flaming and the shrap-
nel bursting, the most powerful arbiters of all .lay
strewn about a Pacific beach in the shape of some mi-
croscopic black particles, the idea would certainly have
met with wholesale ridicule ; yet the simple truth, which
we of to-day realize all too bitterly, is, that each of
those black specks contained more diabolical potentiality
than a thousand tons of high explosive.

It was little more than a month before the first por-
tents of disaster appeared. A party of chemists and
astronomers, returning by airplane to conduct a fresh
investigation of the meteorite — which had lain unheeded
for several weeks — were startled to observe the altered
appearance of the beach where it had fallen. All of
them were sober men of science, yet all, as they after-
wards confessed, rubbed their eyes and gaped and
wondered if they were dreaming — it seemed almost as
if the beach had disappeared! Or, rather, the sands
of the beach had disappeared; and, at the same time,
the crater caused by the meteor had almost vanished I
But for hundreds of yards where the sands had been,
and for other hundreds where the crater had gaped
like a ghastly sore, there was a thick reddish growth
of some mysterious vegetation! Weirdly translucent,
and dense as the foliage of a tropical jungle, it fringed
the ocean to a height of twenty feet, and, unaffected
by the brine, stretched out into the water for well over
a quarter of a mile !

It would be pointless to describe this strange vege-
tation in detail, for it has since grown familiar as grass
to every child. Let it suffice to state that it was then
in a half-developed, sprouting stage, somewhat like a
leguminous plant with the cotyledons* still clinging to
it. But even so, it presented an appearance sufficiently
fantastic and imposing. It can be most nearly likened
to a gigantic fungus, since it possessed no leaves at all ;
it consisted merely of a mass of tendrils, weaving and
interweaving like a pile of intertangled cotton yarn;
and its feelers, sprouting out in all directions as thickly
as bristles from a brush, showed a tendency to curl
like a corkscrew, and in many cases ended in claw-like
protuberances that have been compared to the talons
of eagles.

But as if these points of novelty were not sufficient,
the plants showed other and still more striking peculi-
arities. The first of these was that, here and there

♦These are the so-called seed leaves, which are what we eat
in the leguminous giants. If you see a bean seedling just push-
ing up its head you will see the two cotyledons, which have pro-
tected the tender leaflets on their way through the soil.

among the wilderness of tendrils, there was an opaque
round mass double the size of a man’s head, deep-purple
in color, and surmounted by a growth of shoots and
stems that bore a remarkable similarity to hair. And,
to complete the likeness to a human head, there were
several orifices corresponding remotely to mouth and
eyes; and these were seen to open and contract for no
known reason, giving the illusion of a face grimacing
with the most horrible, distorted malevolence and mock-
ery. Scientists were afterwards to explain that these
were mere centers of growth, corresponding roughly to
the trunk of a tree; but there are thousands who, to
this day, remain unconvinced, and contend that the
supposed plants were really not plants at all, but rep-
resented some inexplicable cross between vegetable and
animal life. . . .

S ubsequent events developed numerous argu-
ments to support this view. One of them was to
be found in the second marked peculiarity of the plants.
This was discovered — and in a most unfortunate way —
by the members of the scientific party upon their in-
vestigation of the curious growth. For, after they had
alighted from their airplane and started on foot toward
the plants, they encountered an unexpected obstacle.
When they were within a hundred yards of the fringe
of vegetation, a queer odor came to their nostrils,
vaguely sweet, pungent, indescribable and as distinctive
as the odor of ether, and more subtly unpleasant than
they could explain. They had no thought, however, of
possible danger, and continued on their way until the
foremost was within twenty yards of the plants. Then
suddenly an extraordinary thing happened. A pale
greenish-yellow cloud, of the color of chlorine gas shot
toward them from the plants, as though forced out of
nozzles under high pressure. Before they had had
time to retreat, the gas was drifting all about them.
And the foremost of the scientists reeled, gasped, and
sank with a deep sigh to the earth.

Two of his comrades, a little to his rear, likewise
gasped and staggered, then wilted like men who have
been shot, and dropped to earth. The remaining five
members of the party, not quite in the line of attack,
coughed heavily and felt their heads dizzily swimming,
but somehow remained on their feet. Stumbling like
drunken sailors, they struggled forward to aid their
companions — only to succumb to a new wave of the
gas, which leapt forth in a vehement burst from the
tendrils of the plants. And when the second wave had
passed, seven silent forms lay strewn about the beach.

But in the form of the eighth victim, still prostrate
upon the sand, there might have been observed some
signs of life. One man, a little further than his fellows
from the reddish growth, might have been seen to move
his limbs in random, feeble gestures, somewhat like a
beetle that has been trodden upon. Gradually, in the
course of what may have been hours, his movements be-
gan to take on a little force and direction ; and there
came a time when, with a sick sensation in the head and
the unsteadiness of one who walks a hurricane-swept
deck, he precariously regained his feet, and by turns
stumbled and crawled away from the plant toward the
waiting airplane. . . .

THE GAS-WEED

141

He it was who, in a condition halfway between life
and death, appeared on the following day in the western
offices of the War Department, stammering forth a
story of some incredible new poison gas contrivance,
which resembled a reddish plant and lured one on to
destruction. Such were his ravings and mutterings
that many were inclined to believe him a madman, al-
though he spoke in the manner of one who has actually
survived some appalling catastrophe, and was eventu-
ally identified as none other than Sherman Krass, the
world-renowned chemist. But it was only because of
the outstanding name and influence of the man, and
not because any one believed there could be a particle
of truth in his fantastic story, that a small party was
sent to investigate the patch of beach of which he gave
such lurid warning.

When, after three days, no member of the investigat-
ing party had returned, the War Department began to
take a somewhat more serious interest. And when,
after another three days, still another investigating
party had gone forth and remained unreported, it came
to be recognized with alarm that possibly there was
more than a shadow of truth to Krass’s narrative.
Rumors that the foe had seized the coast in force now
began to circulate ; it was common gossip that they had
found a base for their poison gas attacks somewhere
along the California beaches. And it was for this
reason that the War Department, now thoroughly
aroused, commissioned a fleet of sixty air scouts and
ten dirigibles, well equipped with guns and gas-masks,
to fly to the alleged military base and attack the enemy
in mass.

The experiences of this expedition are among the
most memorable of which our records tell us. Few
persons have ever received a more bewildering surprise
than did the crew of the great air-fleet when, approach-
ing the spot indicated in Krass’s report, they found the
beach overgrown for half a dozen miles with translu-
cent reddish shoots. But the plants were not twenty
feet high, as Krass had indicated ; they averaged forty
feet or more ! And the great purple masses that stood
out here and there among them were each as large as
half a dozen human heads!

The fleet alighted at a distance of several hundred
yards ; and a dozen volunteers were ordered to approach
as nearly as possible to the vegetation. Their fate, how-
ever, might have been foretold; they were still far
from touching-distance when there was an eruption of
the greenish vapors, and the men staggered, toppled
groaning to earth, and were still. Thenceforth, upon
the orders of the commander, every member of the
expedition was required to wear his gas-mask.

Even with this precaution, however, they found their
task no easy one. They did not, it is true, succumb to
the gas-attacks, for their masks were of the latest
style, and were proof even against the recently devel-
oped sulpho-cyanide vapors, one whiff of which would
kill a man; but they did find themselves the targets of
an attack, even more direct and unexpected in its nature.
For, when they strode within the shadow of the red-
dish vegetation, the invisible seemrf to open up its
arms against them; long, spine-like blades shot out
with amazing speed from concealed scabbards amid

the undergrowth. It would be impossible to give an
idea of the swiftness and suddenness of the assault;
before they had had time to defend themselves, half a
dozen men had been pierced and slain. Some with
thorax and abdomen ripped open, others with heads
broken and shattered, they toppled to earth, where they
lay in crimson masses that quivered for an instant, and
then were still. And meanwhile the blades, with poig-
nard-thin edges, curved and gleaming like scimitars,
flashed back again into their hidden scabbards.

Thunderstricken, the remaining troops stopped short
barely in time to save themselves. Some fled scream-
ing, as though pursued by demons; others remained
rooted to the ground, their hair fairly bristling in their
fright. To one and all it was apparent that no ordi-
nary enemy confronted them. And to the command-
ers, observing the horror from safe vantage-points in
the rear, the conviction came that the fibrous wall before
them was not a wall of vegetation at all, but rather
some death-trap contrived with diabolical ingenuity by
the foe. For had any such plants as this ever been
known before? And had any plants, however strange,
ever been seen to strike out like human beings? The
idea was unthinkable, preposterous ! Accordingly, with
the belief that human enemies lay unseen in ambush
behind the reddish screen, the leaders ordered a whole-
sale attack by means of aerial bombing guns, small
field artillery, bayonets, and hand grenades. And, as
a preliminary to the assault, they directed that the men
be all arrayed in those steel coats of mail and helmets
which had come to be part of the paraphernalia of
modern warfare.

It was the massed attack of several thousand men
that brought the greatest surprise of the day. The
plant-like growth, though apparently soft and flexible,
proved to be actually hard and impermeable as granite !
Again and again the attacking bayonets struck with a
clatter as of iron against rock; again and again the
blades were warped or broken. And the hand grenades
and the aerial bombs exploded without causing any
visible damage; the shells of the field artillery made
only narrow gaps, which closed almost instantly, leav-
ing all as before! The supposed plants were really
stronger than steel!

But no sign of a human enemy was discovered by
any of the assaulting party. And at length the com-
manders, turning from the attack in a sort of dazed
astonishment, were forced to admit themselves de-
feated. When finally, baffled and bewildered, they
returned home, it was with the report that the enemy
had contrived some inexplicably powerful, destructive
mechanism, infinitely superior to any previously known.

N OW it was that the world was really aroused.

Now it was that scientists and militarists alike
began to recognize that the bristling reddish growth
represented a discovery of major importance. The
idea that it was not a thing of human contrivance, that
it was something strange, unearthly, sinister beyond all
reckoning, was already beginning to gain credence in
certain quarters; and the demand for a thorough ex-
planation and investigation was growing louder and
more insistent. The American government, throwing

142

AMAZING STORIES

open its treasury, in alarm that was daily deepening,
offered a reward of one hundred thousand dollars to
whoever would satisfactorily account for the red plant.
And at the same time it provided unbounded facilities,
in the shape of military equipment and scientific appa-
ratus, to all who desired to participate in the investi-
gation. Meanwhile, from all sections, a cry of “Make
haste, make haste!” began to arise. For an appalling
fact was coming to light, a fact that argued incontest-
ably against the human origin of the spiny reddish
thing. The “gas-weed,” as, it was now popularly called,
was still growing with phenomenal speed, and had al-
ready attained a height of one hundred feet. Worst of
all, it was spreading, not only along the beach, but in-
land, wiping out every other plant as effectively as a
prairie wipes out dried grass. An area estimated at
over forty square miles had already been conquered by
the spreading peril !

It was through the efforts of that celebrated chemist,
Sherman Krass, that the world gained its first partial
solution of the mystery. Ever since his narrow escape
from death at the hands of the unknown, Krass had
devoted himself unsparingly to the investigation of the
gas-weed. And he it was who first traced its definite
connection with the fireball of 1968. Remembering
that its first appearance had been in the vicinity of the
crater caused by the meteorite, and that it had origin-
ally been observed not long after the meteor’s fall, he
conceived a daring theory which he at once set out to
demonstrate scientifically. Tearing apart small frag-
ments of the meteorite and examining theni beneath the
microscope, he discovered the tiny bean-shaped par-
ticles; he also discovered how, when split apart, they
displayed curious lines and veinings, not unlike the
veinings of a leaf. Next he subjected some of the
black dots to qualitative analysis, and in so doing dis-
covered them to be exceedingly complex in structure,
composed primarily of a silicon compound, but with
the inclusion of quantities of oxygen, hydrogen, carbon
and various other elements to be found in organic sub-
stances. And yet the silicon was so abundant that, as
Krass afterwards confessed, he doubted for a while
whether the resemblance to anything organic could be
more than superficial. He did not, however, refrain
from making a final experiment — and to this experi-
ment the world owes the first great stride toward the
mastery of the unknown; he distributed a few score
of the black dots in flower-pots filled with a most sandy
soil, covered them with a thin coating of earth, and
resolutely waited.

He did not, however, have to wait long. On the
following day he observed something red and fibrous
just beginning to peep above the earthen surface of
the flower-pots. At first he thought it was perhaps
merely some chance weed ; but he was swiftly to he
disillusioned. Even as he watched, he saw translucent
shoots pushing themselves out of the soil with move-
ments so rapid as to be perceptible to the attentive eye !

T here could be no further doubt. The discovery
was nothing short of revolutionary ! Wild-eyed
with amazement, Krass rushed off to broadcast his
secret, tie had penetrated the enigma of the gas-

weed ! He knew now that it was not of this earth !
Its seeds had been borne to us by the meteorite ; it had
issued from some other world, some other universe !

Such was the startling fact that Krass proclaimed.
But mankind at large, with its customary scepticism
when the unusual is concerned, did not share in his
enthusiasm. Many at first smiled incredulously, and
declared themselves unwilling to accept a tale that so
flatly contradicted all previous experience. How, asked
the critics, could a meteorite come to bear seeds within
it? How preserve them, so that they were capable of
germination after possibly millions of years ? And how,
even granting their existence, could they sprout upon
the earth, in an environment probably totally different
from that known to their kind?

To all these questions Krass listened patiently, and
to each he offered an answer. Torn from the surface
of some remote planet by some tremendous cataclysm,
some volcanic eruption, some collision of worlds, the
meteor could easily have borne within it a portion of
rock or soil containing seeds awaiting germination ; and
these, if small enough and if fortified sufficiently by
ancestral adaptation to extremes of pressure and of
cold, might be preserved within the meteor’s iron heart,
proof against any change of temperature and unaffected
by the passage of years. And finding on earth a pro-
pitious environment — which is to say an environment
that included sunlight, air, and a moderately warm soil
— ^they at once were brought to life, and developed as
readily as though on their native sod. In all this, as
Krass took pains to make clear, there was really noth-
ing extraordinary, any more than in the importing of
an Australian plant into North America, or of a North
American plant into Australia; the real marvel was
that such a transplanting had never happened before,
unless, indeed, it had happened a thousand times with-
out our knowing it, and was one of the obscure causes
of the origin of species.

Within a few days, a number of other extraordinary
facts about the gas-weed had been made public by
Krass. For one thing, he had conducted a chemical
analysis of the young shoots, when they were still rela-
tively soft and tender and had not attained anything
of that steel-like rigidity characteristic of the developed
plants. He had discovered that, in common with the
seeds, they were composed of a silicon compound, so
highly complex that its chemical formula defied analy-
sis, and differed fundamentally from any other sub-
stance ever known on earth. Krass’s theory — based,
it is true, upon incomplete researches, but later thor-
oughly substantiated — was that the gas-weed had a
totally different chemistry from any terrestrial organ-
ism: instead of the chlorophyl common to all green
plants, it had a reddish pigment which enabled it to
utilize the sunlight as a source of growth; while, in
place of the well-known protoplasm, with carbon and
nitrogen as its basis, it had a molecular construction
equally elaborate, but with silicon as the essential in-
gredient. This, in Krass’s belief, explained not only
why the weed throve so well in the sandy soil of the
beach, where silicon dioxide existed in inexhaustible
quantities, but why it was able to build up walls of the
flinty construction for which various silicon compounds

THE GAS-WEED

143

are noted. Such are the felspars, trap-rock and others.

And this also explained, in the view of scientists,
why it was a thing so difficult to compete with, a thing
inimical to human life. For that it was inimical to life,
as much in the role of aggressor as when deliberately
attacked, was fast becoming manifest. Apparently
thriving upon success, the plant had continued to de-
velop at a rate that would have been deemed impossible
had not the sober facts forbidden denial. From occu-
pying forty square miles of territory, it had come to
spread over eighty, then over a hundred and twenty,
then over two hundred, then over five hundred, then
over a thousand square miles ! And this vast conquest
was accomplished within a period of weeks ! No army
known to history had ever subdued territory so utterly
and so indisputably. Advancing away from its first
field of attack, it was spreading inland, was moving
over cultivated ground and crowding out orchards and
vineyards as easily as forest trees crowd out grass.
Even houses and small towns were not immune to its
attack; they disappeared before it as mysteriously as
though they had been but phantoms ; the translucent
ruddy shoots would weave their way through brick and
wood, seizing all in a strangle grasp and grinding it
to fragments; and when the advance guard had once
arrived, in a few days there would remain only a tall
reddish tangle, with here and there a purple head-
shaped mass, uplifted like the face of some inscrutable
sentinel watching and warning. . . .

T FIE worst of the matter was that the devastation
did not confine itself to a single area. Bad as it
was to see a section of the fertile California seaboard
succumbing to the invader, it was inconceivably worse
to find a dozen, twenty, fifty spots falling victims. How
the terror could spread into widely separated districts
was not at first apparent, but ultimately an explanation
did come. The plants, as Sherman Krass discovered,
were already putting forth seeds ; and these minute
black particles such as he had already investigated, were
equipped with tiny down-like wings, much like the
wings of dandelion-seeds, except that they were lighter
and might blow even further afield. Thus, as the facts
incontestably showed, they had been borne fifty, a
hundred, in some cases two hundred miles from their
point of origin ; and, in widely scattered regions, among
the orange groves of Riverside and in the fig orchards
and vineyards of Fresno County, the gas-weed had
lifted its rank growth, laying waste some of the richest
agricultural regions of the State, and spreading, spread-
ing, spreading, always silently and malignantly spread-
ing.

It was less than six months before the intruder had
ceased to be recognized as a matter of merely local con-
cern, and in many quarters had come to be regarded as
a world-wide peril. In some way that has never been
positively ascertained — whether due to the chance pass-
age of the seeds on the person of some traveler, or to
their deliberate transportation as a means of military
aggression — ^the gas-weed gained a foothold first in
Europe, then in Asia, then in Africa, then in Australia.
Before long there was no part of the world, civilized or
uncivilized, that did not know its baneful presence.

It showed itself able to thrive equally well in any cli-
mate and in any soil containing silicon ; it began scram-
bling up the arid mountains of Southern California
and Arizona, apparently indifferent to the scarcity of
water, and was even reported in the saline waste of the
.Great Salt Lake desert, and among the dunes of the
remote Sahara; it flourished on the sides of stony
mountains,-sending its roots deep down into quartz and
flint; it inhabited the clayey valleys of rivers, and
among the tundra of Labrador it began to lift its head
as though it were in its native habitat.

Slow as the world in general was to appreciate the
scope of the menace, the second six months brought
warnings not to be resisted. For there are some pleas
which speak more forcefully than words, and which no
man has ever been known to deny; and one of these
was to be found in the famine that slowly, stealthily fol-
lowed in the wake of the reddish invader. The world’s
food supplies, depleted by the most exhausting war in
history, would barely have proved adequate in any case ;
and the drain caused by the added destruction proved
as decisive, as would a sack of lead placed on the back
of a tottering laborer. Starvation, already threatening
to descend, suddenly reached its bony hand over all
realms ; wheat and potatoes rose so sharply in price as
to be beyond the range of the common man ; meat, be-
cause of the extensive destruction of grazing land,
soared until it had become a luxury of luxuries. And
now only the well-to-do went their way without feeling
the hunger pangs, while in every city on earth the pov-
erty-ridden thousands, standing in line for a plate of
soup or a scrap of barley bread, cried out in vain for
that with which to appease the clamor of their gaunt
and shrivelled babes, of their worn and weeping
women- folk.

“End the' war 1 End the war ! End the war !” was
now the cry in all lands. For while Hunger, with its
accomplices. Looting and Riot, went rattling its skele-
ton fingers about the earth, the lords of empires, them-
selves with ample bread in their pantries, were still
urging their underfed minions forward with bomb and
bayonet. And meantime men of science, debating be-
hind locked doors, whispered the opinion that the war
must automatically come to a close; but that, even so,
only heroic measures could save the human race.

It will be needless to comment upon the further
events of those tragic days. There would be no object
in enumerating the hundreds of thousands that perished
of starvation in China, in Soviet Russia, in England, in
India, in the United States ; neither would there be any
gain in outlining the course of that great pestilence
which attended the famine, and which for a while con-
verted the surface of whole continents into a purgatory
defying description. Better to pass over these unhappy
events, beside which the Black Plague that once depopu-
lated Europe would seem like a backwoods epidemic ;
better also not to detail by what steps the predictions
of the wise were fulfilled, the man automatically had
to abandon the war upon man, in the throes of the still
more desperate war for racial survival.

The all-important fact is that the time did come when
all the remaining energies of our kind were directed
toward the problem of the gas-weed. But how attack

144

AMAZING STORIES

that problem? How compete with a foe whose arma-
ment was so impregnable, whose methods of combat so
different from anything previously known on earth?
The heads of the various nations, in a conference
wherein for once political bickerings were forgotten
amid an atmosphere of terror and despair, agreed upon
every possible agency of international cooperation:
chemists and botanists in large numbers ware to study
the gas-weed; enormous prizes were to be offered for
every important discovery : the laboratories of all lands
were to be thrown open to research workers, and the
results of their studies were to become the property
of all nations alike. So far, so good 1^ — ^but what if there
were to be no results from their studies? So some of
the pessimistic inquired, for still the days went by and
nothing encouraging was announced, and still the gas-
weed, with its prodigious fecundity, kept spreading over
garden-land and desert alike, devouring, devouring, de-
vouring, insatiable in its greed for prey.

It is impossible to estimate how many brave men,
venturing forth to study the gas-weed, perished of its
poisonous exhalations or beneath its spiny sabres. It
is impossible to compute how many others took their
lives in despair, how many died in madness, how many
succumbed to pestilence and famine. There is no
means of gathering such statistics, for mankind, in its
deathly grip with the invader, could no longer give a
thought to the mere numbers of the casualties. All
that we can say with certainty is that no less than nine-
tenths of the human race had been extinguished, and no
less than one-half of the world’s arable lands had been
laid waste, before chance brought that solution which
no man’s ingenuity had been able to contrive.

I N an obscure laboratory connected with an eastern
medical college, a young physician, Francis Leigh-
ton by name, had been conducting researches into the
cause of cancer, a disease which had been gaining in
virulence of recent years and still seemed far from be-
ing vanquished. At the time of the appearance of the
gas-weed, Leighton had been gathering cancer cultures
in various tubes and jars and artificially feeding them
in preparation for microscopic study. But, upon the
world-wide development of the new menace, he had
turned reluctantly from his cancer researches into the
still more difficult research into the nature of the gas-
weed. He had acquired a few flower-pots filled with
the young plants, whose seeds and translucent shoots
he had laboriously studied ; but within a few days, like
so many investigators, he had found that his laboratory
specimens were fairly running away with him, were
threatening literally to eat him out of house and home !
Being inexperienced, he had not taken the precaution of
destroying the young plants with nitric acid during the
first three or four days of their growth, when they were
still too tender to resist that devouring reagent; and
after the first three or four days, when neither fire nor
water nor any chemical known to man had any effect
upon them, the gas-weeds dug their clutching roots
through the clay of the flower-pots into the wooden
floor of the laboratory and the stone foundations, and,
drawing nourishment from that difficult source, ex-
panded so rapidly that they seemed likely soon to fill

and destroy the building. It was no trifling matter.

But young Leighton, watching in horror as the pest
spread uncontrollably, could hardly have known that
for once the very rapacity of the foe was to betray it.
In his consternation, he did not remember the cancer
cultures, which stood unnoticed beneath glass cases in
a dozen parts of the laboratory; but the gas-weed,
whose hungry grasping arms could overlook nothing —
and least of all the silicon-bearing glass — ^was not slow
in finding out that which Leighton had forgotten. The
tough reddish tendrils, reaching the first of the glass
coverings, forced their way through it as though it had
been made of straw, bursting it into a thousand frag-
ments, and proceeding greedily to devour it.

But for the first time the intelligence of the gas-weed
— if the uncanny force that guided it can be called in-
telligence — had been guilty of a miscalculation. And the
results of that miscalculation were soon to become ap-
parent. No one at first even remotely surmised the
cause ; yet a change, an extraordinary change, had come
over the plant. Within a few hours the ends of the ten-
drils, though immune to attack by dynamite or steel,
began to crumple up and wither ; enormous green-black
swellings commenced to appear at a hundred points
among the wilderness of shoots ; the huge purple head-
like masses sagged and contracted, and faded to a pale,
sickly yellow; faint, scarcely discernible noises, like a
low moaning, could be heard as the writhing reddish
arms threshed one against the other in what observers
declared to be like the death-agony of some sentient
creature.

And a death-agony it surely was! Within twenty-
four hours, every evidence of life had vanished from
the gas-weed. In a fallen, shrivelled, blackening heap,
loathesome but harmless, it lay upon the floor of the
laboratory it had come so close to annihilating.

What had happened to the terrible weed ? Leighton,
observing in amazement, was at first too bewildered to
understand; and it was only by slow degrees that the
explanation dawned upon him. The cancer cultures!
They had been his saviors ! In some unaccountable
way, they had attacked and conquered the unconquer-
able!

Leighton’s first impulse was to proclaim the news
from every house and hilltop. But, being naturally of a
cautious, scientific turn of mind, he restrained his impa-
tience until he had hastily conducted other experi-
ments. Securing new cancer cultures, he deliberately
exposed them on the path of the gas-weed — not one
time, but fifty! And in every case he got the same re-
sult! Within half a day the plants would begin to
wither, would develop enormous, hideous swellings,
then they would blacken and die !

But why did the change come about? Leighton
could not answer, nor could any of the scientists who
studied the question. The most that they could state
was that the cancer cells, possessing some peculiar prop-
erty inimical to the life of the gas-weed, had found in
the plant an exceptionally fertile soil; while the plant
in its turn, having an inherited immunity to all perils
except this alone, had not the necessary resistance. One
circumstance only was easily explained: the fact that
its incredibly hard exterior did not protect it; for its

THE GAS-WEED

145

surface, as observers discovered upon investigation of
the remains, was covered with a multitude of tiny
breathing places or pores through which the cancer cells
might readily have entered.

But whatever the complete explanation, the signifi-
cance of Leighton’s discovery was clear enough. The
ancient enemy of mankind had become it.s deliverer !
With the aid of our old foe, cancer, we might strike
down the invader !

And with the aid of that old foe, we did indeed strike
down the invader! Like wildfire the news of Leigh-
ton’s findings spread around the earth ; and, for the first
time in history, cancer patients came into big demand.
Operations were performed wherever possible upon vic-
tims of the disease; and the cells, dropped from air-
planes among the vast jungles of the gas- weed, were
scattered far and wide to do their deadly work. And
never once did they fail! The p!ants, withering and

biackening, began to recede as rapidly as they had ap-
peared; over areas of thousands of square miles they
were exterminated, until not one living trace of them
remained !

Five years have now passed since the appearance of
the pestilence. Today no gas-weed survives, except in
a few mountainous and desert regions, and among the
frigid wastes of the Antarctic Continent, where their
destruction is of but slight importance. But even these,
it is believed, will be blotted out within a few more
passing years.

And meanwhile humanity, left gasping and bewil-
dered on the very verge of extinction, has been coura-
geously husbanding its few remaining resources, still
trembling at the doom it has avoided, and yet daily of-
fering up prayers that the heavens shall not open again
to cast down some new freight of terror that man may
not be able to resist.

THE END.

The Seventh Generation

By Harl Vincent

ALES of the distant future are always welcomed by
our readers, and we admit a secret hankering for such
stories ourselves. What future wonders are in store for
the human race? What are zve heading for? Would it
not be a wonderful thing if, by some sort of radio astro-
nomical machine, we would be able to tear away the wall
of our future and take a peep at our future generations, and
study their behavior and their handkvork? This is pre-
cisely what the author is depicting in his present story. It
is an exceedingly facile tale, with a dash of romance, ad-
venture, hair-breadth escapes and all the other elements
that go to make a successful story. You will wish to re-
read this story many times.

This story is published in the Winter Edition of

Amazing Stories Quarterly

Now on sale at all newsstands

The Hollister Experiment

By Walter Kateley

HAT causes dwarfs and giants? Science to-day tells
us that either is caused by glandular disorders, but
what tnakes a whale or an elephant enortnous, and why
doesn’t the cat or rooster take on the proportions of ele~
phants or whales? That is something science is not pre-
pared, as yet, to exactly explain.

Dwarfism or giantism can be artificially produced, how-
ever, and the time may not be far off when it will be pos-
sible to artificially breed animals or human beings to almost
any size desired within reason.

In the present story, the author, who has a deep insight
into this branch of science, is presenting our readers with a
capital story that will make yott gasp for its sheer daring.

This story is published in the Winter Edition of

Amazing Stories Quarterly

Now on sale at all newsstands

OUT APRIL 20th!

Spring Edition “AMAZING STORIES QUARTERLY”

AFTER 12,000 YEARS

By Stanton A, Coblentz

By the author of “The Sunken World,” a complete novel, showing a fine innate feeling for clever
satire and an appreciation of the ludicrous seriousness with which we take ourselves.

LOCKED WORLDS

By Edmond Hamilton

By the author of “Comet Doom,” which is a unique story embodying the theory that the earth
is a mere interlocking electron within an atom:

Also, several short stories of unusual scientific interest, including a fitting sequel to “The Beast-
Men of Ceres,” by Aladra Septama. Watch for it on the newsstands or order direct from:

THE EXPERIMENTER PUBLISHING COMPANY, Inc., 230 Fifth Avenue, New York City

^^MOON STROLLERS

'Ey J. Jiggers Ullrich

CHAPTER I.

The Astronomical Club

N a little shack hidden deeply in the Ver-
mont mountains, a group of amateur as-
tronomers were gathered around the fire-
place for their after-supper discussion.
Comprised mostly of engineers or manu-
facturers from New York or Boston, they journeyed
up there into the mountains for a few days each year —
a few days of play, in which each could pursue his
hobby and forget the cares of big business.

The shack was built of logs from the surrounding
pine forests and besides sleeping quarters, it contained
a living room, a kitchen, and a laboratory. In the lat-
ter, which was splendidly equipped, much time was de-
voted to lens grinding and the construction of telescope
mountings, for the rules of membership required each
man to make at least a 6-inch reflector with his own
hands.

A truly stag club this, where the blue flannel shirt, the
old corn cob pipe, and a week’s growth of beard needed
no apology. A roaring fire crackling on the broad field-
stone hearth, the semi-circle of gray heads, the blue
coils of pipe smoke — one can picture this scene and can
imagine the scientific discussions which were often in-
terrupted by bantering.

which would bring forth
roars of laughter from the
circle. Among the group
was young Scoefield, a bril-
liant and imaginative en-
gineer, only ten years out of
Boston Tech, but already
giving promise to exceed his
famous father in the daring
of his engineering work.

Scoefield, who usually led
off the discussion, had been
very moody during supper,

and now that there was a

pause in the desultory con-
versation, several pairs of eyes naturally turned toward
him. Finally “Old man Donnelly” threw out the bait.

“I say, Fred, now that the Goddard rocket has at
last made a fair hit on the moon, what is the scientific
world going to do about it?”

“Going to do about it,” echoed Scoefield, roused
suddenly from his reverie as if 'dashed in the face with
cold water.

“Why, man, within a week a thousand fools will be
begging and pleading to make the trip.’

“Think of it!” And then, after a brief pause, in
which all eyes and ears were now his.

O OME of the recent experiments made with cobalt steel
O bring the possibility of interplanetary travel closer to our
time than it has ever been before. It is not amiss, therefore,
to begin planning what a lunar expedition might require
after it landed on the Moon, for instance, and to wonder how
the explorers would get about on our satellite, which has
practically no air, and whose temperature at all times is very
near absolute sero.

The author of this story has used, not only his hnagination,
which seems very fertile; but he has also employed science,
for he bases a good part of the story on the latest scientific
discoveries of this age.

It is an extremely absorbing tale and well worth careful
reading.

“And I would like to know if they expect to get out
of the rocket and skip around the moon picking flow-
ers ?”

“They would have to wear their red flannels, Fred,
at a temperature of 200 degrees below zero, and I sup-
pose the lungs would freeze solid before one could at-
tempt to take the first breath of the scanty air.”

“Yes, that’s the main difficulty to overcome, but let
us develop this thought a little further. Now, gentle-
men, this may seem very fanciful, but just for the sake
of something to talk about, let us suppose that a couple
of men live through the journey and reach the moon’s
surface. What then?”

“I have thought of all that in detail,” interrupted Dr.
Mueller, the chemist, at this point, “and the only thing
that really worries me is the heart action. If we could
be sure that the circulatory system is partially inde-
pendent of the force of gravity, it is easy enough to
sujjply the rocket with an abundance of good pure air
and we could, therefore, be fairly certain that the men
would live comfortably for the entire duration of
their journey in the rocket.”

“Yes, that is a vital factor, but to continue the
thought I was developing,” replied Scoefield, “here we
are, safely landed on the moon, and peering through a
tiny window upon a new world (or old world, to be
more exact) bathed in
blinding sunlight. Cooped
up in the helpless rocket,
death would soon follow
unless they could emerge to
get fresh supplies from a
cargo, rocket or at least
shovel their own rocket out
of the sand and prop it in
an upright position, thus
making it ready for the
return shot.”

‘"fTrHAT would be

VV n

needed, is a sort of
metallic suit, which each
traveler could don, a suit impervious to the intense cold
of space and containing an adequate air supply to last
at least four or five hours at a time. I have in mind a
contrivance resembling somewhat that recent invention
for deep sea diving. Let us call it the ‘moon stroller.’
It could be of heavy construction, since objects on the
moon’s surface weigh but 1/6 of that on the earth.
Probably of pressed steel, electrically welded and in-
sulated with an elaborate cellular lining of vacuum
units. Within the stroller I would have oxygen cylin-
ders, escape valves and a chemical purifier to absorb the
poisonous exhalations.”

146

Heretofore they had walked in a sort of soft inpalpabe dust which went up to their knees, and their progress through this age*
old dust was difficult. But now they had come to a rocky plateau, and for the first time became aware of the low gravitational

attraction of man.

147

148

AMAZING STORIES

“All easy, all easy so far,” muttered Dr. Mueller.

“If we judged the insulation imperfect and the man
were in danger of having his feet frozen, he might wear
a complete suit of felt lined with fine electric heating
wires, similar in arangement to those worn by aviators
when climbing for altitude. Including a compact stor-
age battery, oxygen tanks, wireless receiver, we might
keep the total weight down to between 300 and 400
pounds. Let us say 60 pounds moon weight plus 30
pounds personal weight, giving a total of 90 pounds to
skip over the surface.

“You men who are already showing patmches and
taking collars two sizes larger ; how would you like to
have your 200 pounds reduced to 90 pounds, and hop
and jump from rock to rock, making bounds 20 feet
high or more ? It would be exhilarating, I'll say !”

“You have all seen athletes and classical dancers in
slow motion pictures. I never see that without thinking
that the same gravitational conditions exist on the
moon’s surface.”

“Now, gentlemen, this is my proposition. You know
that the Smithsonian Institute has just received a big
government appropriation to carry on these rocket ex-
periments. In the meantime, our club will secretly con-
struct two strollers and when completed, we can an-
nounce their practical use and availability for the first
moon explorers.”

Scoefield paused for a moment to gather up his
threads of thought.

Donnelly was the first to applaud.

“Fred, you are exceeding yourself to-night. Your
idea interests me tremendously and my plant with its
9,000 auto bodies per day capacity stands ready to take
care of the pressed steel casings and welding!’

“That’s fine, and that disposes of the first parti’

“And you, Dr. Mueller. In your chemical laboratory
a very compact air supply apparatus must be designed
as soon as the blueprints are ready and you can figure
out the exact space we will allow you!”

“We will take care of that readily enough, Fred, but
there is one vulnerable spot in your iron man. How
about the arm and leg joints?”

“I expected that question to be raised. It involves
a neat little job of engineering, but the problem has al-
ready been half-solved in the deep sea diver.”

“Burroughs, you seem to be sitting up and taking no-
tice. You manufacture electric refrigerators. How
about working out our insulation difficulties?”

“Well, Fred, you know it is a very different matter
to insulate your tin can against absolute zero than to
insulate one of my ice boxes against 90 degrees on a
summer’s day. However, there are several ways to
pretty accurately test the thing, and it is not beyond our
ability to obtain security against the low temperature
of the moon’s surface.”

“Atta boy. Burroughs ! I see you are thinking ahead
of me already.”

At this juncture, the conversation broke out spon-
taneously, stimulated as it was by Scoefield’s fancy. He
leaned forward eagerly, eyes brilliant, trying to catch
at once every thread of thought, at the same time jot-
ting down notes in a tiny book with a little silver pen-
cil. After a time, however, the interest lagged, the men

grouped themselves according to their hobbies, some
left the room for the laboratory, while others went out
into the clear starlight to unhouse their telescopes.

Scoefield remained alone before the dying embers,
thinking.

CHAPTER II.

Building the Strollers

W EEKS and months passed. Hours upon hours
of designing and calculating over the drafting
board finally evolved complete plans for the
moon stroller.

“A brilliant piece of engineering by Frederick Scoe-
field,” quoted Science and Invention. “Not in a gen-
eration have we seen anything to equal it from a man
so young. Yet, coming from a line of noted engineers
for several generations, we could hardly expect any-
thing but exceptional work from Mr. Scoefield.”

The fabrication of the strollers was undertaken by
the astronomical club with vigor and enthusiasm. Press-
ing and welding of the outer and inner cases, packing
the intervening space with the vacuum units in triple
layers, the- air supply, the heating wires, the telephone
and radio receivers, each part had its technical advisor.
It represented the last word in scientific research and
engineering.

When completed, the two strollers hung from cranes
on steel cables fastened into rings on their helmet tops.

Burroughs volunteered to demonstrate the perfect
insulation by remaining in one stroller several hours
while it was immersed in liquid air at 190 degrees below
zero. Not satisfied with this test, he next heated the
empty interior to 1,400 degrees with an electric arc, in
an effort to melt off a coating of frozen carbon dioxide.
The results were beyond expectations. It was another
triumph for refrigeration.

Communication between the steel men was main-
tained by a pair of headphones and a short length of
telephone wire plugged into each helmet. A short-range
receiver was also installed.

The operator entered the stroller through the shoul-
ders, the helmet being screwed down then, after the
manner of a diving suit. A window consisting of triple
pieces of glass, with two intervening vacuum spaces,
and givnig a range of vision of 180 degrees provided
adequate power of observation to the front and side.
The arms terminated in a ball and socket joint to which
was attached a pair of steel claws. Even the handles
which manipulated the claws from within were in-
geniously insulated against the cold.

CHAPTER III.

The Moon Rocket

T he making of the first man-carrying moon rocket
is a long story, now perfectly familiar to the read-
ing public. It has become a matter of history.
The series of experiments were given their first im-
petus by the German rocket airplanes, successfully
designed for the Berlin-to-New York air service.

After the firing, the control and the propelling forces
were definitely known and established, construction of
the moon rocket became a logical sequence. Its scien-

THE MOON STROLLERS

149

tific need was an accurate study of the moon’s geology
still imperfectly understood. The earth’s life history
from beginning to end would thus be known by analogy,
since the evolutionary process on our satellite has made
its complete cycle.

Space does not permit, nor would the reader want us
to relate once again the long details of this enthralling
story. Let it be sufficiently understood that the first
choice to take passage on this perilous adventure went
to Scoefield. As in Verne’s prophetic story, “A Trip
from the Earth to the Moon,” three passengers made
the journey. It was generally agreed that Dr. Mueller,
the chemist, because of his profound knowledge of aero-
nautics, should be second choice and Professor Ken-
worthy, noted astronomer and mathematician, should be
the third.

The agony of the initial shock, the throbbing temples
and racing hearts, the problem of living and function-
ing and even thinking, when the weight was nairght — ^all
these details we will pass over.

Housed in their narrow quarters, each of the travel-
ers had their assigned duties; Kenworthy, a small and
nervous type of man, forever calculating and paging
his volume of logarithms ; Mueller, stolid German sci-
entist, near-sighted, depending on smell and taste, quite
as much as on eyesight, pottering among his tanks and
valves and gauges; Scoefield, impatiently studying the
dial board, which automatically registered the dis-
charges and the progress of the rocket.

Time passed swiftly enough. At last the topogra-
phy of the moon spread before them. Comparing detail
by detail with the government lunar atlas, they specu-
lated where the projectile would land, whether in the
crater of a volcano, on the high table lands, or in the
treacherous and rocky Apennines.

It was now a matter of hours. Scoefield stood at
the recoil chambers ready to fire the retarding charges
when Kenworthy, with stop watch in hand, gave the
signal. Mueller sat musing over the fact that the pres-
ent air supply was purer than the chlorine-charged at-
mosphere he had breathed on the U-boats during the
World War.

It was now a matter of minutes, then of seconds,
then the shock of the recoil ; a second and a third shot
and crash! They had landed.

CHAPTER IV.

Preparations for the Great Adventure

M ueller was the first to speak, “Fred, Kenny,
are you all right? Well, well, at least act
pleased that your brains were not dashed out
on the rocks. Landing on the soft sands of the Mare
Sercnitatis is wonderful luck. All we need now is an-
other shot and we will pop up upon the surface like
a sand crab coming out of his hole.”

Scoefield smiled wearily and said, “Brace yourselves.
Here goes the last shot.” And in an instant the rocket
raised itself out of the sand pit and fell heavily on its
side, rolling over once or twice before it came to rest.

The men scrambled to their feet and with one accord
peered through the heavy glass port, the outside steel
shutter of which Scoefield opened by touching a button.

What a sight for mortal eyes to see! Sand, rocks, utter
desolation all bathed in dazzling yellow sunlight, with
shadows black as ink.

Muelier spoke first again, “I for one am not going
out into that blinding light. My grey Nordic eyes won’t
stand the strain. Besides, what do I care for scenery.
Just bring back to me a few hundred samples of sand,
gravel, stones, rock crystals, lava, anything worth while
to put in these little bottles.” And smiling he showed
in their cases some 500 wide-mouthed glass stoppered
bottles all numbered and labeled.

“We have plenty of tools, spades, picks, buckets and
blasting powder, but before we do anything else, let us
set a flare to let the home folks know that we arrived
safely.”

Involuntarily they all looked up and were just able to
see the earth through the tiny window. It seemed no
more than a thin crescent.

“Fred, I suspected the radio wouldn’t work in spite
of your tinkering. It must have been damaged at the
start. I am not an electrical engineer, but I have a
piece of black silk 400 feet square tucked away among
our supplies and I do know when that is spread out on
the sands, the Yerkes refractor will instantly pick up
the signal. Furthermore, I have an abbreviated code
of dots and dashes, copies of which our government
sent to every large observatory. It is very comforting
to know that at this moment at least a hundred tele-
scopes are scrutinizing the moon for our message of
safety.”

“Well, you certainly are thorough. Professor,” re-
sponded Scoefield. “But, how will the earth reply to
our messages?

“Surely you haven’t forgotten that we have an 18-
inch lens which will pick up the earth signals. A fleet
of destroyers on the Pacific will throw a smoke screen
10 miles square. By this simple means, which is an
old idea, they will notify us when and where our supply
rocket lands.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing, thanks. What I do want to know now is
the external temperature.”

“How about that. Doc?” this from Kenworthy.

“I am testing that now, gentlemen, and according to
my instruments, it is 227 degrees Fahrenheit below
zero at nine feet above the surface. There is, as I
long suspected, a trace of atmosphere, for in this sea
bottom a foot above the sand, the thermometer records
only 152 below. I believe that in the deep crater pock-
ets, one could leave the stroller for a brief time with
only the portable oxygen helmet and a heavy suit of
fleece-lined clothes. If the presence of hoar frost has
been observed rightly and the minute traces of green in-
dicate a lower form of vegetation, some very interest-
ing things are to be found. It is comfortable here with
the warm sunlight pouring into the rocket from four
windows, but remember we have but eight days left
before the coming of the long lunar night — ^pitch black,
bitter cold. You two must get out at once and signal
the earth. We must do our exploring, await the arrival
of the supplies, recharge, set up our rocket in the start-
ing frame and be off before the sun sets beyond the
distant mountain peaks.”

150

AMAZING STORIES

“How about the other side of the moon, Professor ?”
questioned Scoefield, whose imagination was always
groping beyond.

“F red, I don’t think it is worth while exploring. Be-
sides, if in past ages there was a civilization, it prob-
ably settled on this side to take advantage of the earth
light during the long lunar nights.’’

“By the way. Doc, if you stayed out half the night
playing chess at your Chemical Society, as you do once
a month, and it was here on the moon, you would be
away from home about seven earthly days. Fraeulein
Mueller would probably be waiting for you with a
cylinder full of hydrogen sulphide, wouldn’t she?’’

Mueller sighed deeply. “This stag party is simply
grand, but I miss her good German cooking. Camp-
bell’s soup and G. Washington coffee heated on an elec-
tric stove with the pots bolted down so they won’t float
away is getting on my nerves. Cook and air maker!
What a combination !’’

Thus terminated the first moonly conversation. The
three explorers sat in silence around a swinging table
and ate heartily of a meagre meal.

Kenworthy was the first to climb into the stroller.
Scoefield fastened down the helmet and assisted him to
stagger into the air lock, a small chamber aft con-
necting with the outside. The inner door was closed
and sealed. They could hear a faint hiss as the stroller’s
steel claw fumbled with the outer door bolts. It yielded,
and he slowly stepped out and closed the door.

Mueller and Scoefield eagerly watched the iron man
making his first steps, or rather bounds, on the moon.
He turned immediately and waved that all was well.

“Magnificent, my boy!” shouted Mueller, patting
Scoefield on the back.

“Hurry into your suit, for I am going out there, even
if I go blind in the attempt. You would probably not
recognize quartz from lava and my sample bottles for
the institute must all be filled.”

“Scoefield followed him a few minutes later, while
Mueller replaced the loss of air by opening a valve and
watching an indicator needle re-register IS pounds to
the square inch.

CHAPTER V.

Exploration — The Hidden City

O UR explorers decided first to make a short ex-
cursion around the rocket to test the strollers
and get a general idea of the character and
topography of the soil. They sank deep in the soft
yellow sand and the glare of sunlight was so blinding
that dark glasses were immediately adjusted. Scoe-
field plugged into the Professor’s helmet and they held
conversation.

“Fred, we had better get Mueller to shove that pow-
der flare out to us. We owe our first duty to the
anxious folks at home.”

Accordingly they returned to the rocket. Mueller
had anticipated their thoughts, for in the outer cham-
ber was the box of flash powder, a coil of wire and
detonator and the bundle of folded black silk.

The flare was set oflf some distance from the rocket.
It burned for five minutes with a blinding light. Spread-
ing the big piece of black silk was the next job. After

that they felt greatly relieved, conscious that the mes-
sages would be promptly seen and straightway broad-
cast to friends and relatives.

In the meantime the doctor had placed the telescope
mountings and lenses in the air lock and while awaiting
the return of the explorers, exhausted the outer cham-
ber of air with a hand pump. He did not care to lose
the 70 cubic feet of atmosphere every time the door
was opened.

The rocket had landed, as we said before, in that
great sea bed known as Mare Serenitatis, lying in the
moon’s northern hemisphere. To the southeast lay that
lofty range of peaks, which resembled a shark’s teeth
and is known as the Apennines, and a little beyond the
mountains was the volcano of Copernicus, surrounded
by a series of lunar canyons known as rills.

Kenworthy proposed to explore thoroughly those
great sea basins which are visible from the earth with
the naked eye. It would be there, most likely, that the
last traces of water, atmosphere and vegetation would
be found. Accordingly, he led Scoefield across the
dark grey ooze, the accumulation of millions of years,
and now baked hard as sand stone. They proceeded
toward the west. In the distance the gigantic crater
of Proclus towered 14,000 feet as a great white beacon.
These guiding posts were perfectly familiar to the as-
tronomer, who had memorized and photographed every
visible detail. As they advanced, Scoefield noticed
that the land descended in successive terraces and grew
darker step by step.

Heretofore, they had walked in a sort of soft impal-
pable dust, which often went up to their knees. And
their progress through this age-old dust, therefore, was
difficult.

But now, they had come to a rocky plateau and for
the first time became aware of the low gravitational
attraction of man; where heretofore, it had been diffi-
cult to walk on account of the deep sand or dust, it now
became a veritable pleasure. Even encased as they were
in heavy strollers, their weight, now that they were on
the moon, had decreased to such an extent that the
slightest effort sent them high up in the air. A jump
that would have been impossible on earth, with the
heavy stroller, and which, at the most, would have been
a few inches, now became a leap over three feet high.
For a while the explorers deported themselves in these
incredible jumps. It was a good thing that the tele-
phone connecting line was long and flexible, because
otherwise the wire would have become disrupted. It
was certainly a strange experience, as they floated up
over the surface of the moon, to keep up a running
conversation 25 to 35 feet above the rocky strata. Af-
ter they had sufficiently amused themselves, and after
they had adjusted their gait, which even then had to
be carefully regulated so that not too much force
was used in walking, they began their explorations in
earnest.

Arriving at the center, they felt that they were in a
bowl, and Kenworthy estimated the elevation at about
6,000 feet below sea level. This point, he felt, would
be the last stand of life and evolution. He set to work
digging a hole and inserting a charge of specially pre-
pared blasting powder. They saw the flash and dis-

THE MOON STROLLERS

151

tinctly felt a concussion, but it seemed odd to hear no
sound. Scoefield unfolded a canvas bucket and they
quickly filled it with fossil fish, shells and pebbles of
various shapes and colors. Scoefield was amazed and
plugged into the professor’s helmet to give vent to his
excitement.

“Say, what will Mueller think when he sorts over
that bucket full of shellfish?”

“This area I have had under close study for years.
It was a tremendous piece of luck that we landed so
near. It undoubtedly is one of the most ancient seas
on the moon. I am going to blast again over near that
ridge and then we will climb that elevation and study
the surface very closely. When the seeing has been
especially good, I have examined it repeatedly with the
Yerkes telescope under the highest magnification.”

The professor gave no evidence of his own excite-
ment except to become very formal and exact in his
statements, as if he were addressing his large classes
in Chicago University.

“We will proceed to place our next charge a little
deeper and I can assure you, Mr. Scoefield, the force
of explosion under the altered condition of lunar at-
traction will create a veritable crater.”

It was just as he said. The explosion opened a veri-
table crater and bounding down into the pit, they dug
vigorously for a few moments. A greater quantity of
fossils were unearthed this time and Kenworthy poked
around among them for nearly half an hour in silence.
Suddenly he jumped up to a higher mound, where Scoe-
field was collecting, in piles, various sizes of Crustacea.
He held up something very strange in his steel claws.
It was distinctly the head of a fish with the eyes on the
top like a flounder. Projecting from between tbe eyes
was a long green prong.

Scoefield plugged in. “Well, professor, what is re-
markable about that?”

ENWORTHY stiffened in his formality and re-
plied, “I shall now proceed to trace for you the
life history of the vertebrate which I hold up for your
inspection. Once upon a time this was a foolish little
fish which came too close to the shore line. A fish
hunter, (please note I did not say fisherman), sitting
on a conveniently projecting rock, thrust a copper dart
at Mr. Fish and struck him a beautiful blow between
the eyes. While in the act of pulling in his catch, a
much larger vertebrate came along at tbis moment and
bit off the entire body of the fish. Our hunter was so
astonished that he let go his line — a very, very foolish
thing to do, as I can testify from personal experience,
but lucky for us. What was the result ? The head and
dart sank down into the heavy ooze at the bottom of the
sea perhaps a thousand feet and was fossilized. It
now gives us a valuable clue, after countless centuries
have passed.”

“What next, professor?”

“We will leave these pits at once. Mueller will come
here and complete our work. Let us climb to that flat
ridge, which borders the sea and stretches back to
Mount Proclus. As we progress, you can see the salt
incrustations along the banks, an indication of tbe low-
ering sea level, after countless years of evaporation.

Also, please note that the character of the soil is chang-
ing. We are no longer walking on the ooze but on
fine yellow sand. A little further on, the sand will be-
come fine as pumice, in fact, it changes to volcanic dust.
The west winds from that great volcano have probably
raised the level here ten or twenty feet.

They sank ankle deep into this dust, light and fluffy,
almost like snow.

“Surely here is the Naples of the moon, with Mount
Vesuvius in the distance, the bay of Naples to the east
and the buried cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum any-
where in this vast plane. Running from this point due
south and then to the west, you can see a faint recti-
linear arrangement of mounds and ridges. It can be
seen from the earth on exceptional nights. Lowell and
I spent an evening studying it at P'lagstaff. But it was
during the last few years of his life and we wanted to
avoid any more ridicule, so the matter was not pub-
lished. That is a hidden city! We will make the find
and future generations can dig out the records.”

Scoefield, speechless in amazement as these wonders
unfolded themselves in rapid succession, dumbly as-
sisted the professor to dig a deej^ hole for the last blast.

They hurried, bounding and sliding down the sides
till they reached the bottom, an area about SO feet
across and smooth, as if swept clean, revealing huge
paving stones cut square and fitted accurately together.

“This,” continued Kenworthy, “is a part of a street
and if we dig either to the left or right, we should strike
a wall.”

In fact, upon a closer inspection of the mound, they
found a corner of the wall just projecting above tbe
surface. Scraping a little sand away, heavy lava blocks
in regular courses gave one the instant impression of
Incan or Aztec architecture.

Kenworthy backed off a little and snapped a dozen
yards of motion pictures, showing Scoefield digging
away the sand and revealing a beautifully carved door-
way. It was barricaded with enormous boulders, prob-
ably the last stand against an ancient enemy.

At that instant the head-phones began to buzz and
switching on the radio receiver, they heard Mueller
talking from the rocket.

“I say, you men have been gone three hours. How
much longer do you expect your air supply to last?”

Scoefield answered by pulling his phone jack out of
Kenworthy’s helmet two or three times, indicating all
was well and that they were returning.

Back to the rocket they trudged, weighed down with
specimens for Mueller’s “damn bottles,” as Kenworthy
called them.

I N the meantime. Dr. Mueller busied himself with
making the rocket shipshape, for in spite of every
precaution the supplies were in chaos. When the rocket
passed through that short part of its journey in which
every object lost its entire weight, the travelers con-
tended with conditions both perplexing and distressing.
They were seized with fits of nausea and dizziness while
floating around the rocket in a semi-conscious state.
Scoefield had strapped himself in front of the dial
board, Kenworthy was in a stupor and Mueller too
sick to try any stunts of tying ribbons of water into

152

AMAZING STORIES

knots or doing any of those odd things which the
physicists tell us could be accomplished under similar
circumstances.

In consequence, Mueller’s first act was to let out
the bad air and besides the caustic soda he spread
around powdered charcoal to absorb the noxious odors.
The supplies of food, the working tools, medicines,
water, the quantity of oxygen remaining in the tanks,
all these things were gone over and before he knew it,
three hours had slipped around. He suddenly realized
that he was very lonely, anxiety seized him and he
called the explorers. After hearing Scoefield’s click,
click he felt reassured and thought no more of the men
until he heard the outer door of the air lock slam and
Kenworthy tapped to be admitted.

Scoefield came in last with two large canvas buckets
bulging with specimens. Mueller’s joy was unbounded,
for he immediately held a long discourse with himself
in scientific German, hardly a word of which either of
the other men understood. He held up the minerals
and fossils one at a time as if lecturing to a class.
Each was given its most technical terminology and
those pieces which could not be identified, he named in
turn after the three explorers.

In the meantime, Scoefield and Kenworthy, having
refreshed themselves with food and water, stretched
out on their air mattresses. Lulled by the chemist’s
droning voice, they soon fell into a profound sleep.

CHAPTER VI.

Lost on the Moon

I -SO-DAY, Fred, we are going to explore that
I great crater of Copernicus, named after the
Polish astronomer and visible from tbe eartb
with the naked eye. Fortunately, it lies to the south-
east of us and by skirting along at the foot of the
Apennines, we should come to it in a little over an hour.

Bounding and hopping along, the explorers made
their way rapidly southward and then bore toward the
east until the majestic mountains suddenly loomed over
the horizon. The terrain now became exceedingly dif-
ficult to traverse. Here and there were great boulders
of rock tumbled into the plains by volcanic eruptions
or by glaciers of a pre-historic age. At other places,
deep fissures indicated frightful earthquakes, which had
rent asunder whole mountain ranges, causing the once
abundant seas and lakes to sink out of sight into the
moon’s interior.

The grandeur of these scenes, originally created in
the throes of the moon’s death agony, appalled the trav-
elers. Utter desolation depresses the most valiant spir-
its. They involuntarily drew closer together and kept
up a continuous conversation, in order to bolster up
their courage.

Finally Copernicus, with its concentric ridges, arose
before them. The ascent was slow as the summit tow-
ered to a height of nearly 16,000 feet.

Arriving at the top, out of breath and perspiring,
they sat down to marvel at the wonderful panorama be-
fore them. It seemed fully 50 miles across to the op-
posite side, and glancing down, they judged the depth to
be at least three miles. Rising from the center were

the inner cones clustered like the towers of a Gothic ca-
thedral. The descent was cautious. The explorers
were in constant dread of landslides. Enormous de-
posits of sulphur crystallized into fantastic shapes,
spangled the sides, interspersed with masses of iron
pyrite. The beauty and wealth of these minerals fas-
cinated them and their amazement was further height-
ened to see that huge blocks of the sulphur had been
cut away by some artificial means. Upon scanning the
crater’s rim again, a definite groove was discernible, an
ancient road by means of which the moon people had
hauled away this valuable element to their distant city.

The crater floor, reached at last, was as level as a
table and contained centuries of accumulated ash. It
was so fine and fluffy they sank into it to their knees.
Kenworthy chose that craterlet which still possessed
an open mouth and cautiously they gained its crest.
They peered into the yawning chasm, trying to pierce
the jet blackness.

Scoefield leaned over a little further. He had not
quite mastered the equilibrium of the stroller under
the influence of lunar gravity. He leaned over still
further and then — ^the unexpected happened! The
ground gave way in an avalanche of lava and ash. He
vanished into utter blackness!

Kenworthy involuntarily yelled “Fred! Fred!” with
all his might, but the telephone wires had snapped and
no sound could penetrate the void. Horrified, he threw
himself on his stomach and gazed long into the crater’s
mouth. His bitter tears blurred the helmet window.
Stupefied, he wondered what to do, when Mueller’s sig-
nal from the rocket roused him to action. Uncoiling
his scaling cable, he attached to the end his electric
torch and lowered it nearly 300 feet, fastening the up-
per end to a big stone. He lingered a few more min-
utes and then reluctantly made his way back to the
rocket. He picked his path carefully, going almost in
a straight line. Knowing his lunar geography almost
by heart, it was not in his calculations to be lost on the
moon.

Mueller’s consternation, when he saw Kenworthy re-
turning alone, was unbounded. He paced the floor as
the professor recited the harrowing details. He had
come to love his pupil like a son and recalled his eager
face in the amphitheatre at Boston Tech during his
chemistry lectures.

Suddenly he sat down at the transmitter and spoke
to Fred, hoping he would be able to hear the message.

“Fred, dear boy, have courage down there. Your
air supply should last three more hours. Kenny is re-
turning with a thousand foot cable. I hope you will
be able to reach that. God help you to get out the best
way you can. If you find the air supply running short,
I have a secret to tell you, Fred. It is my theory that
down in these craters there are air pockets. Take your
cigarette lighter out of that tin box on your tool belt.
Just see if you can strike a light. If you can, you are
saved. Good-bye, Fred, I must help Kenny now.”

In the meantime, what were Scoefield’s thoughts?
He was one of those fortunate individuals gifted with
quick thinking and muscular co-ordination. Anything
requiring agility suited his nature. He had been a star
basketball player, his skill at tennis was marked, he

THE MOON STROLLERS

153

could walk on his hands and he could pole-vault. Walk-
ing on the four-inch flange of an I-beam hundreds of
feet above ground never daunted him. Consequently,
the instant he felt himself drop, he thrust out his arms
and l^s and by violently twisting, managed to right
himself. He knew the lesser force of gravity on the
moon would carry him down at but one-sixth the rate
on the earth. If he could just retard the fall once or
twice, he felt it would be possible to drop perhaps a
thousand feet without getting seriously hurt. Hardly a
hundred feet below, the tunnel made the first turn. He
hit the side clumsily and started to slide at an incline
of 45 degrees. Within another 200 feet, the direction
changed. There was a sheer drop for about 50 feet and
then the sliding commenced again. This time it was
very rough and he knew he was riding on gigantic
waves of hardened lava. He thought two or three times
that he was going to stop, but continued on and on.
The direction changed again and he fell sheer 200 feet
more to the bottom. Here the passage changed to
lateral and widened considerably.

H e remained sprawled on the bottom for some time,
calmly contemplating his position, and little real-
izing that he had descended nearly 700 feet, 500 feet
of which were below the crater floor. He became con-
scious of silence and blackness — ^two things that sud-
denly seemed to stifle him. Mechanically he tried to
snap on his electric torch, but the fragile little bulb had
broken. It was then that fear seized him — ^not for
himself, but for the two older men who would perish
without the aid of his strength and skill to get the rocket
back in the firing position.

In the midst of these broodings, Mueller’s signal
came with startling clearness and the ensuing directions
electrified Scoefield into action. He immediately pawed
with his steel fingers in the tin box and with consider-
able difficulty extracted the cigarette lighter. He twirled
the little wheel and marvelous to relate, it lighted at the
first shot, a thing he had never experienced on earth.
The flame burned yellow, aiding him to extract a candle
from his kit and light it; He placed the candle on a
ledge of rock and then looked around to examine his
surroundings. The walls reflected back the solitary
candle and he realized that they were crystalline. No
footing would be possible and Kenworthy would liter-
ally have to drag him to the summit.

Well, there would be a way, he thought, while fum-
bling with the helmet ring. It was now or never. The
thing came off with a hiss and he gasped for breath.
Light as the atmosphere was, its rich oxygen restored
him to normal respiration within a moment. He crawled
from the stroller like a butterfly, emerging from its
chrysalis into a new world. The first thing Scoefield
did was to unscrew the back of his torch and try the
spare bulb. It flashed brilliantly. He now had a good
light.

The great cavern in which he found himself stretched
off into the dim distance. He felt an earth tremor and
a faint rumble as of a mighty cataract. He thought of
Verne’s absorbing tale, “A Trip to the Center of the
Earth,” which he had read three times as a boy.
Tempting as it was to explore this mysterious place,

he was not going to further endanger himself, not only
for his own sake, but for the lives of his friends, which
were also at stake. He would take a few steps though,
to get the kinks out of his legs and back. He advanced
perhaps a hundred feet, when the passage was blocked
by a pool of water, which was in a state of agitation.
Upon touching the water with his finger tips, he found
it to be quite warm and it proved to be sulphurous to
the taste.

“A hot sulphur bath,” he thought . “What a lux-
ury 1 I would have to pay a pretty penny for this at
one of the earth’s health resorts.” Wherewith he
quickly undressed and plunged into the pool. He stayed
close to the edge, however, for fear he might be drawn
down by internal currents.

CHAPTER VII.

The Rescue

I N the meantime, running and stumbling with a great
weight of steel cable, a pick, a shovel, extra oxygen
tanks, the professor made his way back to Coperni-
cus with heavy and apprehensive heart. Arriving at the
summit, he quickly withdrew the short cable and spliced
it to the one he carried. Attaching a powerful electric
flood light, he let this down slowly until it disappeared
in the bends of the tunnel. The horrible truth dawned
upon him. The sides of the crater were smooth as
glass and would afford Scoefield no footing whatsoever.

He paused, dumfounded, not knowing what to do
next.

What was that? Was someone tugging at the cable?
Yes, it was being jerked in a curious manner, and then
Kenworthy realized that Scoefield was signaling to him
in code.

“Am alive but very hungry. Please send down a
thermos bottle of hot coffee and a dozen of Mueller’s
liverwurst sandwiches.”

“How impossible!” Kenworthy thought. “The
stroller must be smashed open and Fred was breathing
lunar air!”

“All right, can you live?”

“Yes, yes,” came the reply. “I am breathing lunar
air. The temp is very warm. Don’t worry. I’ll be
patient until you drag me out.”

With light heart and amazement, Kenworthy
bounded back to the rocket, where Mueller eagerly
awaited him and while he recited the details, he packed
several substantial meals in a cold-proof container. This
was in due time let down to Scoefield, who was delighted
to find his pipe and tobacco among the good things.
There were, as usual, several of the “damnable speci-
men bottles” and explicit directions for their filling.

Again Kenworthy returned to the rocket only to find
that Mueller was still unable to get in communication
with the earth by means of the radio. With Scoefield
safe for the present, he set about mounting tbe tele-
scope with which to read the earth signals. When com-
pleted, he pulled in the four corners of the silk square,
thus forming an octagon, the prearranged sign to show
that the explorers were ready for the messages.

Two hours later a black dot was visible in the Pa-
cific; then a series of dots, giving details concerning

154

AMAZING STORIES

the arrival of the supply rocket, the flare of which had
been observed. It was a considerable distance to the
north and east of the first missile and had landed in the
vicinity of the Sinus Iridum.

Excitement on the earth was beyond imagination
when Kenworthy’s black square appeared in the desert
sands. It had been seen simultaneously in a score of
observatories. The second rocket was immediately dis-
patched. It was packed with all sorts of supplies.
Since the time of the first rocket’s trip was accurately
known, the recoil charges of the second rocket were
fired electrically at the proper moment.

In spite of the most careful calculations, the shots
came too soon and the projectile was buried deeply in
the sands. Since it was not necessary to insulate this
one from the intense cold, several large hatches were
arranged to be easily opened from the outside. Ken-
worthy managed to open the rear, in order to drag out
a third stroller, which he carried back to Mueller.

They set out at once to rescue Scoefield. Again they
were at the yawning edge of Copernicus. An emer-
gency tank of oxygen was let down and ten minutes
later Scoefield indicated that he was ready to make the
ascent. Straining and heaving, they dragged the iron
man up foot by foot. After an hour of exhausting ef-
fort, the steel helmet emerged into the sunlight.

And the three moon-strollers set out immediately to
unpack the supplies.

CHAPTER VIII.

Preparations for the Return

T hey spread out the contents of the rocket on the
sands, and among the first things to be assembled
was a light truck, rocket propelled. In this, nu-
merous trips were made back to the home-base, which
now began to resemble an engineering encampment.

The method for returning to earth was to set up a
light structural steel tripod in which the rocket would be
supported in an upright position. Since it was not neces-
sary to give the rocket anything like the starting force,
which had been necessary to make it leave the terres-
trial influence, they figured that only a third of the
cartridges would be necessary for the return journey.

The time passed too quickly; there was so much to
do. Kenworthy busied himself with his astronomy.
The magnificence of the heavens, as viewed from the
moon, was worth the peril of the trip. The planets
showed out with singular brilliance and using the re-
flector, he confirmed Lowell’s records of the Martian
canals. His photographic proofs at last convinced a
sceptical world. The plates revealed that Mars had
seen the establi.shment of communication between the
earth and its satellite, for in the center of polar ice of
the southern hemisphere appeared a black square which
changed to an octagon. This was not known until sev-
eral weeks later, when the pktes were developed in the
Chicago laboratories.

Interesting as those details are, we are mainly con-
cerned just now with the safe return of the explorers
and their incalculable amount of scientific data and dis-
coveries.

Bolting together the steel tripod was slow work.

Each leg had to be imbedded in solid rock. Steel cables,
block and tackle and hand windlass all served to hoist
the big metal rocket into place. The lessened weight
aided the men materially.

Among the various things the supply rocket contained
was another receiver and Mueller was now able to get
messages of advice and encouragement from the earth.

Kenworthy and Scoefield spent a considerable
amount of time each day rolling up and spreading out
the square of silk, laconic messages which the world
press was hungry to receive. They regretted having
to waste so much time, but the rocket did not have
facilities adequate to generate sufficient current to
broadcast.

America quickly saw the commercial possibilities of
this adventure. Rathe News offered the astronomer a
million for his films and Associated Press countered
by offering another million for Scoefield’s exclusive
story. Mueller, who despised money, would not listen
to these attractive overtures. His pride was unbounded,
however, when Jena conferred upon him an honorary
degree, “In Absente.” Fraeulein Mueller, who attended
to all money matters, made arrangements with publish-
ers and later banked substantial checks — royalties from
his monumental works on the moon’s geology.

I spoke of each day on the moon, because it was nec-
essary for the explorers to conform to an earthly day
in order to preserve their health and strength. Work
at the best was very exhausting. The heart accelerated
at the slightest exertion. One was always on duty while
the other two slept.

Lower and lower the sun sank while Kenworthy
watched the lengthening shadows with growing appre-
hension. Frantic warnings now came by radio to
Mueller, who was too busy to pay much attention.

Eventually the firing chamber was packed with its
cartridges, each electrically connected with the central
switchboard. The recoil cartridges of triple strength
were fitted into the rocket’s nose. The travelers packed
everything into its allotted space. Nothing was loose,
belts and spring catches held all. The telescope, the
truck, some tools, the empty supply rocket and tripod
were left behind. These m.ute reminders would cheer
and aid the next moon travelers or those who would
eventually make a brief stop here in their attempt to
reach Mars.

Everything being read}-, and the men being utterly
exhausted from their unnatural life, they were only
too glad to climb into the rocket. The three strollers
were stored away, two in their customary niches and
the third in the outer chamber^ Mueller looked lov-
ingly at his minerals ; Scoefield regarded the strollers
with satisfaction and Kenworthy paged his astronomical
notes.

The sun was just above the horizon. The Sea of
Tranquility lay in deep shadow and only the distant
Apennines remained in sunlight. Our brave adventur-
ers belted themselves down on the air mattress, rocking
on its ingenious shock absorbers. Kenworthy noted the
time and Scoefield pressed the button.

Jules Verne picked the deepest part of the Pacific
Ocean as a landing place for his moon projectile, but
our earthbound travelers had no choice. They came

THE MOON STROLLERS

155

down in the Andes mountains, considerably bruised
and shocked, in spite of the recoil discharges which
brought the rocket almost to a standstill. Fortunately
their gyroscopic stabilizer prevented them from rolling
down the mountain side or they all would have been
killed. It was ten days afterward before they got in
touch with the civilized world.

There is little else to tell. It is needless to describe

the international celebrations, the exhibition of the
strollers in the principal cities of the world and to tell
how the names of Scoefield, Kenworthy and Mueller
were engraved on the. honor rolls of every scientific so-
ciety as the bravest, the most resourceful and the great-
est contributors to scientific knowledge that the world
has ever known.

The next voyage into space must be much longer.

THE END.

The Evolutionary

What the Sodium Lines

Monstrosity

Revealed

By Clare Winger Harris

By L, Taylor Hansen

In Collaboration with H. W. Edwards^ PhJD.

A GAIN, our well known author, Mrs. Harris, steps to
the front with a gem of a story zvhich proves her
versatility as a writer of scientifiction. What is evolution?
and how does if all come about? And how long does it
take a race to evolve? All difficult questions to answer
in a short paragraph. But there are many who believe
that it is possible to speed up ez’olution. We do it experi-
mentally zvith the lozver animals and insects, and there is
no doubt that sooner or later we can do it with^ human
beings. When that time comes, it will be a most interest-
ing adventure for us humans, but we do hope, for the good
of humanity, that it zvill not be along the lines as expressed
in the present story.

However, do 7wt forget that dynamite can be used for
killing people and for peaceful endeavors as well.

'T^HIS is a most unusual interplanetarian story that cer-
tainly does not follow the general path of stories of
that kind. The suspense contained in the story is excellent
and a slight amount of romance, thrown in for good
measure, does not at all detract from the story; rather,
it makes you like it better.

But the thing that impresses us most, is the excellent
explanation that the author has given for one of the most
Pucsling questions which every reader and scientist has
been asking for years.

If, as zve all admit, the supposed Martians have a civil-
isation exceeding ours by hundreds of thousands, if not
millions of years, zvhy then, have they not communicated
zvith us? Or zvhy have they not sent space flyers to the
earth? The author has given an excellent answer to this —
plausible, as well as clever.

This story is published in the Winter Edition o£
Amazing Stories Quarterly

This story is published in the Winter Edition of
Amazing Stories Quarterly

Now on sale at all newsstands

What Do You Know?

R eaders of amazing Stories have frequently commented upon the fact that there is more actual knowledge
to be gained through reading its pages than from many a textbook. Moreover, most of the stories are
written in a popular vein, making it possible for any one to grasp important facts.

The questions which we give below are all answered on the pages as listed at the end of the questions. Please
see if you can answer the questions without looking for the answer, and see how well you check up on your general
knowledge.

1. What ancient classic author is authority for the 8.

falling of a meteorite in Thrace? (See page 138.)

2. What is the characteristic composition of many 9.

meteorites? (See page 138.) jq

3. What is the function of the cotyledons or seed leaves
of plants? (See page 140.)

4. What would be the relative weight of any object on H.
the moon compared with what it is on the earth?

(See page 146.) j2.

5. What is the height of some typical lunar mountains ? -

(See pages 150-152.)

6. Would an explosion produce a sound on the moon? 14.

(See page 151.)

7. Can an atom be compared to the planetary system? 15.

(See page 157.)

Can atomic space, the space within the atom, be
compared to interplanetary space? (See page 157.)
Can motion produce invisibility? (See page 172.)'

Why are the rapidly moving particles of solid matter,
molecules and atoms visible, not individually, but
in the aggregate? (See page 175.)

Can you find a theory for the invisibility of gases
such as those of the air? (See page 175.)

Why are lilies and hair white? (See page 177.)
What is a udometer? (See page 111.)

What is the effect of rain upon the sea? (See
page 114.)

What Arctic currents show the existence of the
northwest passage? (See page 115.)

^DIABOLICAL DRUG

'Ey Clare Winger Harris

Author of: “The Miracle of the Lily,” “The Menace of Mars,” etc.

[F Edgar Hamilton had even remotely sus-
pected whither his singular experiments in
anaesthetics were destined to lead him, it
is doubtful whether he would have under-
taken even the initial steps. But the degrees
by which he advanced from an astounding scientific
discovery to an experience beyond the ordinary ken of
mankind, were in themselves so slow and uncertain as
to fail to give warning of the ultimate catastrophe.

Young Hamilton’s years numbered but twenty-six,
and this was to the youth himself a great source of
annoyance, for the young woman whom he adored
with heart and soul lacked but four months of being
thirty-two. Now these six years would not have mat-
tered in the least to Edgar, had they not, in the eyes
of his lady-love, represented an unbridgeable gulf.
Repeated declarations of a lasting devotion did not
change the lady’s mind in the slightest degree, so that
at last, in utter despair, Edgar shut himself in his little
chemical laboratory and applied himself assiduously to
the pursuit of the science that he loved.

For two months he saw very little of Ellen Gordan,
and even in her presence he had an air of abstraction
that contrasted strangely with his former ardor. Upon
the rare occasions, when
he left his laboratory to call
at the Gordan home, he sat
with preoccupied gaze,
much to Ellen’s annoyance,
for this indifference was
certainly less satisfying than
his former demonstrations
of affection had been.

Then one October day he
was ushered into her pres-
ence as she sat playing the
piano. He was hatless and
breathless. She gazed at him reprovingly, much as a
teacher might look in correcting a naughty school-boy.
Edgar comprehended the glance, and it only rendered
his present call of greater importance to him.

“I say, Ellen, where can I talk to you alone? I’ve
got so much to explain. But we must have privacy.”

A smile of amusement flitted across her face.

“Let’s go into the library, Edgar. It is warm by the
fire-place and no one will intrude.”

Together they passed into the library. After the
door was closed, he produced from his coat-pocket a
vial containing about two ounces of a clear amber-
colored liquid, which he held up for her inspection.

“What is it?” she asked wonderingly.

“It’s the most wonderful potion ever concocted by
the hand of man,” he answered somewhat huskily. “It

will make Ponce de Leon’s fountain of eternal youth
look like poison hooch!”

“But I don’t understand, my boy. Is it to be taken
internally?”

“No, that would be somewhat risky. This is to be
injected into the blood — and — then — ” He paused, not
knowing how to continue.

“And then — ^what?” asked Miss Gordan with inter-
ested eyes riveted upon the golden fluid.

“I will explain.” Hamilton gazed for a long mo-
ment at the yellow contents of the small bottle before
continuing. Then he spoke, and his voice quivered
with the intensity of his emotion. “You know, Ellen,
the brain is the conscious center to which vibrations
are conveyed by the nerves. Do you know what hap-
pens when the brain interprets vibrations?”

Ellen admitted that she did not.

“Well, neither do I,” resumed Hamilton, “nor does
anybody else, for that matter, but that there is a similar
interpretation to all human beings from a given source
of vibrations, there can be no doubt, though it can not
be proved that we respond identically. These various
vibrations, whether they are the rapid ones of sight,
the slower ones of sound, or the still slower ones of
touch, must travel over a
nerve with something like
pressure, which vibrations,
as I said before, are prob-
ably similarly interpreted by
all of us. Now here comes
my wonderful discovery,”
Edgar Hamilton’s eyes
gleamed with enthusiasm as
he reached his climax. “I
have discovered that this
pressure, which travels
along the nerves to the
brain, is very like volts in electricity. Now must anaes-
thetics deaden the nerves so that they but faintly con-
vey the nervous impulses to the brain, but I have here
a drug that instead of deadening the nerves, reduces the
pressure or voltage, not in halves, mind you, but in
hundredths and even in thousandths. You know how
our bodies grow old. What is life but the sum total of
our forces that resist death? Decrease the nervous
energy expended in this process of warding off the
grim reaper, and you have a prolongation of the bodily
functions. Hence if not eternal, at least a protracted
youth.”

He held for her further inspection the bit of glass
with its amber contents.

“Will — will it — ^make me younger ?” she faltered.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “It will merely retard

n/fUCH has been said about the preservation and length-
JVj. ening of life. Many ideas were promulgated and many
methods were suggested, but it reynained for Mrs. Harris to
suggest an entirely new and unique plan of procedure. Why
might not an electrical treatment be discovered sometime that
could retard action to such an extent as to prolong life — or
perhaps speed it up an equal amount to shorten life. There
seems to be no very good reason for it and the author, in her
own characteristic manner, produces a story of unusual
interest around this possibility.

156

After a dazed ^second or two, Edgar tbosgM the cat had disappeared, but upon closer observation, he perceived a faint gray
streak moving with almost lightning-like rapidity around the room.

157

ML.

158

AMAZING STORIES

the expenditure of your energy, and you will age very
slowly, while the rest of us can overtake and pass you
on life’s journey. In other words, you will remain
about thirty-two, while I go ahead at life’s customary
pace, catch up and pass you by a year or two, and then
— then, Ellen, I may find favor in your eyes!”

“Oh, Edgar, if that can be done I shall truly say yes.
What a wonderful man you are to have figured out
so marvelous a plan I”

E dgar Hamilton already fancied that the
future held much happiness for them both.

“And you are not afraid to have me inject this drug
into your arm?” he asked.

“Is it painless?” she questioned.

"To the best of my knowledge, yes,” he answered
gravely.

“Very well, then I am ready.” She pulled up the
sleeve which covered her left arm, while Edgar filled
the needle with some of the liquid from the little glass
vessel.

“It will require the entire amount,” he said, “to pro-
duce enough change in nervous pressure to keep your
body hovering around thirty-two years of age for seven
or eight years to come, but I shall administer it slowly.”
And administer it he did!

For a moment it seemed that she was going to faint.
Edgar led her gently to the massive arm-chair into
which she sank. She sat erect, but apparently inani-
mate. Her eyes stared unshrinkingly into the flames,
then for a period of a minute or two they remained
closed. Then Edgar noticed that she was turning her
head toward him, but the movement was scarcely per-
ceptible. Her lips were opening so slowly, and from
her throat there issued occasional low rumbles.

“My God,” cried the terrified young man, “I’ve done
it now ! This is awful ! Ellen, Ellen, you can not
live at this slow rate for seven years. I never realized
it could be so gruesome. For heaven’s sake stop looking
a* me so fixedly with your mouth open ! ! I can’t even
talk with you intelligibly. Wait — I have it !”

He went to a writing-desk which stood in a corner
and took therefrom a large tablet of paper, and pro-
ducing a pencil from his own pocket, placed them in
Ellen Gordan’s lap. After what seemed an intermin-
able length of time she apparently noticed the tablet
and pencil. Another five, ten and fifteen minutes ticked
away on the mahogany mantel-clock, at the end of
which time she had the pencil and tablet in hands and
was beginning to write.

Edgar knew that task would require at least a half
hour, so he, left the library and rushed out upon the
terrace where he found Mrs. Gordan, an aristocratic
appearing woman of fifty-five. To her he poured out
the experience of the last few moments. The two lost
no time in returning to the library, where Ellen sat,
an impassive figure, with a pencil poised apparently
motionless above the paper.

“She has written some,” cried Edgar, “but we will
wait until she is through and then read the whole
message.” .

Poor Mrs. Gordan was overwhelmed at her daugh-
ter’s catastrophe and did not hesitate to express her

opinion of young Hamilton, in very derogatory epithets
“If you two wanted to be the same age, why didn’t
you take something to speed you up instead of bringing
this calamity upon my poor, dear Ellen?” lamented
the distraught mother.

“By George,” cried Edgar, “I never thought of that !
I believe it would be harder to do, but maybe I can yet,
and then I shall catch up with her quickly. I could
use it as an antidote for what has been given her.”

“Well, try it on yourself first, you rash young man !
Better have her this way than dead. But look,” she
cried, pointing to the immobile figure of her daughter,
“she is through writing and is looking toward us with
the tablet in her hands.”

Edgar seized the message with trembling hands and
read it aloud to the anguished mother.

The note ran as follows:

"Edgar, what on earth has happened? 1 don’t
feel any different, but you fly around worse than
a chicken zuith its head cut off. Half the time you
are a mere streak, and as for your talk, occasionally
I hear a fine, piping, whistling note. 1 see mother
is here now but it was quite awhile before she stood
in one place long enough for me to make her out.
Don’t worry, I feel fine, but what ails you?’’

After reading this, Edgar sat down at the desk and
wrote the following to his sweetheart.

“My own dear Ellen : The amber potion is work-
ing! Rates of vibration are relative. If we seem
fast to you, you are extremely slow to us. IV e
remain normal with the rest of the inhabitants of
this zvorld, zi’hile you are considerably slowed up,
but do not be alarmed, my dear. I am now begin-
ning to catch up with you in age. And here is a
secret for you, your mother and me. I am going
to produce an antidote which I shall take until I
overtake you quickly, then I shall give you some
to bring you back to normal. Then, as the fairy-
tale has it, we shall live happily ever after.

Your devoted Edgar.

P. S. Y ou might begin writing me another mes-
sage right away, so I shall have it to enjoy this
evening!’’

He gave this note to Ellen and then followed Mrs.
Gordan out on the terrace, where he assured her with
sincere words of consolation, that everything would
come out all right. Mrs. Gordan had been considerably
cheered by her daughter’s message, and the indigna-
tion which she had felt toward her prospective son-in-
law was partially mollified. They sat for some time
discussing the prospects of a bright future. At length
Edgar arose and said he would have a look in at the
library to see if Ellen had finished reading the note.
In a moment he rushed back toward Mrs. Gordan, his
face depicting abject terror.

“Come, come at once,” he cried.

The frantic mother joined him, and .together they ran
into the library.

Ellen sat with her face turned toward them, her

THE DIABOLICAL DRUG

159

mouth wide open, her eyes squinting. The immobility
of the features was gruesome.

“Isn’t that awful !’’ gasped Edgar when he could find
voice.

“Awful, nothing!” exclaimed the indignant mother.
“Can’t you see the poor dear girl is laughing at your
post-script? See, her finger points to it!”

But Edgar turned and fled!

M any times in the days and weeks that followed,
Edgar Hamilton thought of the interminable
smile that had lost its quality of alert gaiety, which is
essential, if a smile is to put across its meaning at all.

And the antidote? That was progressing splendidly.
It was to be a much more powerful drug than the other.
Edgar had figured out that one drop of the colorless
antidote would counteract the two ounces of amber fluid
which had been injected into the veins of Ellen Gordan.

Before taking any chances with himself, Edgar de-
cided to try the experiment upon Napoleon, the tortoise-
shell cat. Napoleon had been nicknamed Nap because
he was such a sleepy old fellow. Nap was past the
prime of cat life. He was no longer a good mouser, so
Edgar figured that if his declining years were a bit
shortened, no one would greatly regret that fact, and
Nap could prove very useful in testing the powerful
antidote.

Nap was discovered sleeping under the back porch
near the remains of a pork chop which Agnes, the maid,
had thrown out to him after breakfast. Edgar smug-
gled the furry creature upstairs and into the laboratory,
and lost no time in administering the drug. One drop
was all that he intended to inject, but when Nap felt
the prick of the needle, he leaped wildly into the air,
and before Edgar could withdraw the instrument. Nap
had in his veins about ten drops. After a dazed second
or two, Edgar thought the cat had disappeared, but
upon closer observatiori, he perceived a faint gray
streak near the floor moving with almost lightning-like
rapidity around the room. Finally the streak disap-
peared and he saw flashes of color. These, he assumed,
were the vibrations of Nap’s wild cries increased until
they entered the realm of vision. Then there was a
puff of smoke, an instantaneous glare of fire, and Edgar
knew that Nap had literally ignited, due to his friction
with the air.

“Well,” thought the young chemist sadly, when he
had recovered from the shock of Nap’s fate, “I must
take only one drop. That will allow me to catch up
with Ellen in a few weeks, or at most, months. Then
we will forget about this dangerous drug business.”

He took within the needle but one drop of the crystal
fluid and injected it quickly. Nothing apparently hap-
pened. He walked to his window and looked out upon
the street below, and then he knew what had occurred.
It was a frozen world that he beheld ! An automobile
stood in front of the house and yet it was not standing,
for behind it was a cloud of dust that hung motionless
like a fog-bank. Everywhere people stood in grotesque
attitudes. It required the most infinite patience to dis-
cover the meaning of their postures. He turned away
from the window and stood buried in thought. At last
he became aware that Agnes, the maid, was drifting

toward him like some slowly swimming fish. She held
a letter in her hand.

“Now,” thought Edgar, “I will not alarm her. I will
imitate her slow and ponderous movements in receiving
the letter from her.”

Gauging the rate of her approach, he extended his
arm as slowly as his muscular control permitted and
received the letter with a grave and tiresomely slow
bow. If his actions did not appear exactly normal, he
could not tell it by the fixed expression of Agnes’ feat-
ures, which were none too mobile under ordinary con-
ditions. He stood perfectly still until she had disap-
peared, then with feverish haste he opened the missive
which was written in the straight firm handwriting of
Mr. Paul Gordan, the father of Ellen.

"You infernal young idiot,” it ran, “I’d like nothing
so well as to twist your miserable neck! Day after
day my daughter sits like a statue and it quite gets on
her mother’s nerves and mine, to get into communica-
tion with her. But now to cap the climax ! She has a
severe case of measles and the doctor tells us she will
likely havq the disease for the next five years !”

With a sob, Edgar flung the letter from him and
seized the vial of colorless liquid.

“Let it be ten drops,” he said hoarsely. “I shall go
as old Nap did — ^but no — I shan’t prolong it, I will
take the entire two ounces that I have made. The
quicker the better !”

N OW the reader at this point will doubtless be pre-
pared for the hasty conclusion of this story, but
such, I regret to say, is not the case. Have you never
heard that one hundred thousand volts of high fre-
quency electricity can be discharged through a living
body with no apparent damage, but diminish the num-
ber of volts to five hundred or a thousand at a lower
frequency and death is instantaneous? Something of
the quality of the mysterious force known to us as
electricity was contained in that harmless looking liquid.
Before Edgar had put the entire two ounces into his
arm he was conscious of a deafening roar and of inter-
mittent flashes of brilliant lights. He felt as if he were
falling through interstellar space. He seemed to be
passing suns with planets swinging in their orbits about
them. Great universes stretched on and on without
end ! At first he thought, “They are universes of solar
systems, containing suns and planets.” Then with sud-
den lucidity came the thought, “They are molecules
made up of atoms, containing protons and electrons!
I am going, not the way of the telescope, but of the
microscope !”

A physics professor, who had been considered a
little wild in his theories, had once said these words
and they had never been forgotten by the student,
Hamilton.

"Our Earth in the ether of space is as but a grain
of sand upon the sea-shore. Our universes may be
but a molecule in a greater universe, and all our ages
since the beginning of our time, records but a second
in the time of that larger cosmos. Then take it the
other way too. In this grain of sand which I hold
in my hand, there may be other universes which, while
I have talked to you, have come into being, and van-

160

AMAZING STORIES

ished. Students, perhaps time is the fourth dimension
we have sought after so long ! ! Would not this theory
prove that the time element enters into the size of
things ?”

Then Edgar understood. Ellen had been headed the
way of the telescope, but only to an infinitesimal degree.
His body was hurtling millions of times more rapidly
in the direction of microscopic infinity, and as his
physics professor had explained, the atomic space is as
vast, proportionally, as interplanetary space. The differ-
ence is that of rates of vibration, and with his bodily
shrinkage, Edgar was expending his bodily energies at
a relatively rapid rate.

Unable to measure the passage of time, Edgar drows-
ily felt himself losing consciousness. If this was death
it was actually a pleasurable experience.

A gain consciousness, sharp and acute. Edgar
, looked about him and raised himself to a sitting
posture. In his ears pounded an almost deafening
roar, and a strong wind was blowing steadily. He
seemed to be lying upon a stone-paved floor. Then
he observed that it was a great ledge, as broad as the
length of a city block. He could see where it made a
straight horizon with the sky a few rods away. But
the fearful roar ! He turned toward the near edge of
this ledge, and there, stretching in endless billows that
tossed and drove great waves to points within not
more than ten feet from the top of the huge wall, was
a vast watery expanse, the most restless, writhing body
of water that Edgar had ever imagined. Nothing but
water, a deep blue sky (not the cerulean blue of the
skies of Terra, but a deeper royal blue) and the stone
paving of this vast shelf of rocks ! Edgar took a few
steps toward the farther edge. As he walked, he not-
iced how evenly and smoothly the slabs of stone had
been fitted together. It was like one vast block of
concrete.

He approached curiously and cautiously the opposite
edge, and peered below. He drew back in even greater
alarm, for he had glimpsed a pit of fire that sent up
great tongues of flame. He seemed literally between
the devil and the deep sea ! Stepping back a few paces
he commenced to walk along the paving which seemed
the only safe place upon this strange world. To the
left stretched the boundless sea and to the right the
awful semblance of Hades !

After several miles of weary walking, Edgar began
to feel acutely the pangs of hunger. He ventured
warily toward the right edge once more, and this time
he did not draw back in alarm. Far, far below him
lay a beautiful green valley with rolling swards and
mossy hillocks. Dwelling-places dotted the landscape
and figures moved about. From his lofty height the
scene resembled the miniature card-board village of his
childhood’s day. But how to descend into this Garden
of Eden ! There seemed to be no visible means of get-
ting down to what seemed a veritable paradise, after
the experiences of the past hour. Along the entire
length of the wall, as far down as Edgar could see, in
both directions, his eye could perceive nothing but a
blank uniformity, unless — he peered more intently. A
few feet directly below him he saw two small holes.

and his heart gave a joyful bound. The holes must
have been made there for the purpose of attaching the
curved ends of a ladder used in ascending this most
gigantic piece of masonry. Edgar decided to remain
directly above the holes until one of the inhabitants of
this miniature world should be moved by providence
to investigate the top of the mammoth dike.

Many times during the days that followed, Edgar
gave up in despair. He tried to shout, but his voice
was completely lost in the unceasing roar of the ocean
back of , him. Too weak to hope longer, he lay down
utterly despondent. And then came hope and with it
a renewed strength!

Directly below him at the base of this vast wall which
sloped toward the valley, at an angle of about thirty
degrees, were many figures gesticulating and carrying
long black objects upon their shoulders. Edgar in his
weakness and excitement nearly lost his balance in
watching the procedure. Then he was assured beyond
the question of a doubt that one of them was scaling
the wall. Over and over the ladder was being turned
and attached into holes along the side. Nearer and
nearer crawled a tiny saffron garmented creature until
the ladder had been inserted into the last holes and an
inhabitant of the remote valley stood in astonishment
before Edgar Hamilton.

His short yellow garment hung by straps across his
shoulders and extended below his waist where it ended
in short bloomers, full enough to give the effect of a
skirt. His features were in type not unlike those of
the people of our eastern civilization of today.

Communication through a common language was,
of course, impossible, but Edgar was able to indicate
his desire for food and his wish to descend into the
green valley. The stranger nodded and then ran to
the opposite edge of the dike and gazed long and fixedly
at the stormy sea. At length he turned back toward
Edgar and the latter noticed that his face wore an
expression of extreme anxiety.

They both descended by the ladder.

Once down among these people, so like and yet so
different from himself, Hamilton learned many strange
and wonderful things. Inside of a few weeks he had
mastered their language. He became acquainted with
numerous astounding truths concerning this planet to
which fate had so strangely sent him. Chief among
these was the fact that the large island upon which the
people dwelt had at one time been part of a vast con-
tinent, but the larger portion of this land with its great
cities and monumental temples, palaces and fertile plains
had been swallowed up in the ocean. The remnant of
the civilization living upon a lofty plateau had man-
aged to survive the onslaught of the sea, whose waters
seemed to creep up through the centuries, and threat-
ened to engulf them. In reality it was not the water
which rose, but the land that sank due to enormous
subterranean gas pockets collapsing, the gas escaping
through fiery volcanoes. This was a sunken land then
that maintained its temporary safety only through the
building and repair of its monstrous dikes.

Edgar thought of Holland on the far away Earth.
(Ah! but was it so far away? He and all the universe
about him were an infinitesimal part of the new blue-

THE DIABOLICAL DRUG

161

figured linoleum that he had purchased recently for
his laboratory!)

“Not so much like Holland,” he said to himself one
time, “as like the lost land of Mu, which, according to
archeologists was a tropical continent larger than North
America. It went to the bottom of the Pacific with its
sixty-four million white inhabitants and their templed
cities thirteen thousand years ago.”

Then she came into Edgar’s life and gradually he
forgot the linoleum on the laboratory floor and the
measles that threatened to last for five long years. She
was the daughter of Elto, the chief inspector and engi-
neer of the dikes. A sort of modern Nehemiah was
he, as he superintended the continual erection of the
rocky walls that preserved the land of Luntin from total
annihilation. Her name was Yana and her pale, wild
beauty outrivaled the charms of any earthly maiden
Edgar had ever known.

One time they sat upon a grassy knoll outside Elto’s
home. They looked in the direction of Mt. Karp,
into whose forbidding depths Edgar had gazed at the
time of his arrival upon this planet.

“The fiery mount has been very active of late years,”
said Yana sadly, her sweet troubled eyes turned in the
direction of the volcano. “Father says that the land
is sinking rapidly and that the dikes have now been built
as high as is possible without their crumbling. He and
the wise Kermis predict that inside of the next fifty
or sixty years our beloved Luntin and its inhabitants
will be no more, and over all this will stretch that wild,
roaring ocean!”

She shuddered and in that moment Edgar had clasped
her in his arms and won from her the promise to be
his bride.

T WENTY-FIVE years passed; years filled with
much happiness, but clouded with an ever increas-
ing anxiety for the fate of Luntin. Edgar and Yana
had lived in happy companionship. They had a son
whom they called Yangar. The lad was the pride of
their hearts. He had inherited his grandfather’s con-
structive ability, and at the age of twenty-two was
appointed chief engineer of the dikes, to succeed his
late grandfather, Elto. In this capacity Yangar was
a decided success, and by his ingenuity had more than
once warded off dire calamity to his country.

T HIRTY-FIVE years more! It looked as if the
date set by old Elto for the inundation was nigh.
Yangar, now a widower with a son of his own. Manly,
was ingenious and vigilant, but even these qualities
could not hold out forever against such a monster as
hurled itself constantly against the walls. Yana grew
thin and wasted away with worry and died. Edgar
sorrowed greatly over the loss of his wife, and his
son became doubly dear to him.

One time after Yangar had returned from an inspec-
tion of the dikes, his father showed him a bottle con-
taining a yellow liquid.

“This,” he explained to Yangar, “is the way out
of the catastrophe for us. It has taken me years to
prepare it. I will divide it in thirds; for you. Manly,
and myself. It is a very concentrated form of a drug

I prepared sixty years ago. The entire contents of
this bottle is sufficient, if injected into the veins of
you. Manly and myself, to so decrease the rate of our
nerve impulses that we shall no longer be of this world.”

He paused, while in retrospection his mind’s eye saw
the immobile form of that earthly maiden with her
interminable smile.

“We shall not be of this world, father!” exclaimed
Yangar. “Do you mean that we shall die?”

“Not that, I trust,” replied Edgar, “but as I have
often explained to you before, time and size being
purely relative, we cannot of necessity become infinitely
slower in our rate of existence without at the same
time growing infinitely bigger. This process employed
at the crucial moment of disaster will lift us to a world
in a universe next larger to our own. My bodily forces
are about exhausted anyhow, but for you and your
son Manly, it will mean the ability to complete the
normal span of your lives.”

Then came a day when Eidgar and his grandson.
Manly, a young man of four and thirty, who bore a
marked resemblance to his grandfather when the latter
bad come a stranger to Luntin, sat within the little
stone house where they and Yangar dwelt together.
The latter was away, as was his custom, to oversee
work upon the dikes. On the morrow Manly would
be one of the number chosen to labor for the safety
of his land.

“To-morrow you and Yangar must take with you
your bottles containing your portions of this wonderful
drug that diminishes nervous pressure,” said Edgar
Hamilton, smiling with affection at his stalwart and
handsome grandson. “It is no longer safe to be with-
out it. The attached syringes will render its injection
a matter of seconds only.”

He had scarcely finished speaking when a roar like
thunder shook the very ground beneath their feet. To-
gether they rushed to the entrance and lifted their
eyes to the rocky wall that had held at bay their watery
enemy for so many generations. The dike was a
crumbling mass, a Niagara, increased to many times
its earthly proportions.

‘TV^ AY the saints preserve me!” exclaimed Agnes
IvJ. as she flew toward her room and locked the
door. “This mornin’ I hands a note to master Edgar
and he acts that queer I think he’s after losin’ his mind.
Then this evenin’ I goes in, and there he’s a settin’ on
the floor with next to nothin’ on, and an old man
standin’ beside him! I’m through. If these goin’s on
don’t stop. I’m after lookin’ for another job !”

A t nine o’clock that evening the door-bell rang at
. the Gordan residence.

"The strange doctor who was called for consultation
by Dr. Bennett, dear,” said Mrs. Gordan to her hus-
band. “Dr. Bennett said he would send him to see
poor Ellen. Will you go to the door?”

“If it’s the doctor, all right,” responded her spouse,
“but should it chance to be that scalawag, Hamilton,
down the front steps he goes faster than he came up !”
Mr. Gordan opened the front door and gave a little
{Continued on page 180)

OT. POSTERJTY FUND

Hy T\(iymond Emery Lawrence

E was a liar — a. shameless one. Not only
in Smithville but in Jonesboro and Mar-
tinsdale as well. There were at least half
a dozen reputable persons from the last
two places who so testified.

Doubtless he had falsified in many other places, far-
ther away than Martinsdale and Jonesboro; it was
certain that he could not have become so scornful of
truth all at once.

Take his travels. He said he had been all over the
world! This was a lie on the face of it. No man
could have been all over the world; a man’s lifetime
wasn’t long enough. Hedras Hineberg, who owned
an old book, and who could read and write and figure,
held that it would take a man two years to walk around
the earth; and if he went to all the different parts of
the earth this liar told of having been in, it would
have taken him several lifetimes.

And the fellow had claimed : “It did take me several
lifetimes !’’

He professed not only to have lived several lifetimes
but to have lived in the era of the so-called civilization.
Thus did he maunder. That was not all, however;
there was a still more outrageous statement which he
invariably made, every chance he got. Now everybody
knoiys, or should know, if he listened to the truth from
his father, who got it from his father, and so on down
to the first of the Chosen — everybody knows that Civ-
ilization, the era of the Wicked, was brought to a close
by the Angry One. He struck all down — all but a
selected few. It happened, as Hedras Hineburg could
calculate for you, some four
hundred years ago. Man-
kind was in its heydey of
thoughtlessness ; the fair
face of the earth was clut-
tered with audacious build-
ings together with billions
of advertising sign-boards
that were an affront to good
peoples’ eyes ; the very air
was profaned, clouds of
roaring, man-made insects thronged it; life was a
frightful, jostling thing; righteous ideals were forgot-
ten. Then had the Angry One struck. That was the
way of it. But this liar held that it was otherwise.
Professing to have been there, he claimed that the
Angry One did not strike.

Such a person should be run out of the village. But
then, who believed his stories? He was old — ^insane.

YLVESTER KRANTOS was extremely old, there
was no gainsaying that. His skin was dark with

the weatherbeat of unguessable years and wrinkled be-
yond description. It hung in loose folds from the bony
protuberances of his face, seeming more like an ill-
fitting, leathery garb pulled out of shape by countless
other persons, ere becoming finally his own personal
possession. He was nearly toothless ; but his teeth
seemed to have disappeared through wear rather than
decay, for observation revealed a white line of dentures
even with the edges of his gums, a peculiar formation
in that these remnants of teeth appeared sound and
healthy. His eyes glowed with a fierce intensity, his
movements were quick, his voice crisp; he seemed to
give the lie to his ancient-appearing skin, making it look
all the more like a mere bit of clothing.

His clothing, that which covered the strange leathery
fabric that must of necessity have been skin, was of-
the ordinary sort which everyone wore — the loose coat
and trousers ; the dogskin cap ; the high buskins,
broad leather belt. Only on Meditation Day, the day set
aside for quiet thought over the destruction of the
earth’s peoples, did he differ in garb from the rest —
on this day he continued to wear the leather belt in-
stead of substituting for it the orthodox black sash.

He had come to Smithville a month before — appear-
ing at the gate to the walled cluster of mud-chinked,
field-stone huts, with a fierce-looking dog, half-wolf,
at his heels. To-day, shunned by mature minds because
of his extravagant tales, and leaving, he was being seen
on his way by a pair of village children, a boy and a
girl with a penchant for wild tales and with an inter-
est, therefore, in the stranger and his unbelievable story.

The boy was perhaps
fourteen, the girl a year or
two younger. Both were
barefooted ; the boy carried
a bow and a quiver of ar-
rows. Sunburned, the pair
were dark-skinned as the
Indians of antiquity ; the
black hair of both added to
the savage effect.

The path which they fol-
lowed was flanked with alders, the ground carpeted
thickly with red and brown leaves and sun-splashed
in spots where the green and yellow canopy overhead
broke to the blue autumn sky. Once the boy halted and
sped an arrow among the gray boles, a rabbit scamper-
ing away unharmed, the girl jeering. The boy retali-
ated a moment later by roughly jerking from the girl’s
hair a garland of bright red leaves which she had just
finished entwining among her black locks.

For a minute there was a rough and tumble combat
which the old man terminated by pulling the two apart

^TORIES of the far distant future are generally very in^
teresting and always compel our attention.

The present story has impressed us as a most excellent
one, and the treatment is as ingenious as it is clear.

Many readers have written in to Amazing Stories upon
the subject of otir present money system and what the future
holds for this system. The present story gives an excellent
possibility of this phase of evolution.

162

X leaped toward the instrument, my hand outstretched to turn it off. Xust as I had almost reached it, a body hurled itself
upon me and I was hurled to the floor. As I struggled about so that I faced him, I saw that he was indeed insane.

163

164

AMAZING STORIES

with unexpected vigor. Hostilities ended in a dimin-
ishing series of bickerings. Meanwhile the trio, the
old man in the lead, came out upon a grassy knoll over-
looking a broad expanse of river hundreds of feet
below. Here and there a small wooded island rose
like an emerald out of the satiny white surface. High
cliffs, rock spires and battlements rose on either side.
The atmosphere in the distant reaches blended with
land and water in a soft maze of color — mauves and
purples and delicate blues.

“The Columbia is peaceful today,” voiced the old
man, his eyes burning with a strange fire and seeming
to look beyond the atmospheric screen of color. “More
peaceful than it once was — ”

“How long ago was that?” asked the boy, winking
significantly at the girl.

“Over four hundred years ago,” replied the old man
calmly.

“And you were here, seeing all the strange things
the Civilized Ones had?” asked the girl.

The old man nodded.

"But you couldn’t have been, when it was over four
hundred years ago 1” came objection and another wink.

The old man shrugged wearily. “It is the same
with you as with your elders. You cannot understand.
You are all barbarians. But perhaps you will listen;
perhaps you will listen more patiently than your elders
have. Do you think if I explain carefully to you about
my age you could listen?”

Boy and girl sat down attentively on the grass, the
imps of mischief subdued partially by curiosity. After
all, might not this old man who spoke so glibly of
the past be some sort of a supernatural being ! It might
te a good plan to listen to him!

“TT^ HEN I was Eugene Mott — ”

VV “What foolishness is this?” exclaimed the
bo}' petulantly.

“I have lived many lifetimes — ^as I have told your
too ignorant fathers — ” stated the old man wearily.
“With each lifetime I took a different name. I was
once Eugene Mott; I have been Thomas Smith; once
for fifty years I was known as Ogilvy Henderson ; in
the latter part of the twentieth century when civiliza-
tion ran for a spell to standardization I was X3X477.
I didn’t like that designation ; it was overdoing things,
I felt.

“But to come back ; when I was Eugene Mott, which
was during my first existence and in the first half of
the twentieth century, a great movement started toward
prolongation of life. Doctors — ”

“Like Zenus Thompson who boils up herbs in a big
kettle?” put in the boy.

The old man smiled from behind the skin folds of
his face. “Doctors, unbelievably learned, began doing
things to the human body that renewed its youth. In
the middle of the twentieth century I was eighty-seven
years old ; my youth was then renewed, and time after
time following that. In the twenty-second century —
just before the Great Destruction, which occurred in
twenty-one-thirty — I had been renewed seven times — ”

“But Hedras Hineberg’s book says nothing about

such things and he would have told us!” objected the
boy. “It tells nothing about old men becoming young
again. Were there many who grew young?”

“A great many,” replied the old man, “and Hine-
berg’s book, or any number of books, would fail to
tell of it ; for by the time the practice had become per-
fected, books had gone out of existence. In nineteen-
eighty-six all printed matter was practically out of date ;
literature of all kinds was dictated to and reproduced
from phonographic records housed in a huge central
building and accessible by means of radio. Every per-
son carried a pocket instrument designed specially for
communication with the great central library. A mov-
able pointer on a dial connected him instantly with what-
ever department he wished; by voicing the particular
subject or title desired, he was automatically put in
touch with the record or the part of the record con-
taining it. This was much better than having to dig
knowledge or entertainment from bulky printed pages ;
though of course, when civilization was destroyed, the
knowledge became unavailable. The library system
could not function without the aid of many mechanisms,
all of which were too complex to be understood by
barbarians like you and your fathers.

“The books say nothing — but here is what hap-
pened: Thousands of persons, millions finally, had
their youth renewed. And then, just when it seemed
that death had become a thing of the past, it once
more came into its own. The people themselves brought
death back. With the usual number of births and no
deaths, famine began threatening the human race.
Worse than that, civilization began to stagnate, prog-
ress showed signs of coming to a standstill. When
your father, who is Headman, dies, you or some other
will become Headman. Should your father live for-
ever, no one would become Headman. So it was with
those people of whom I am telling ; the naturally young
men had no chance in anything. They had but one
advantage over the old ones — ^they possessed the origin-
ality of youth ; in one short month, virtually the whole
structure of youth renewal was obliterated; the natur-
ally young men rose up and killed not only the old men
but the doctors who specialized in renewing youth.

“A handful escaped, a few doctors, a few patients.
For months I was in hiding; when the anger of the
young blew over, I came out and was allowed to live.
The doctors who escaped were also allowed to live, but
dared no more practice their professions, except se-
cretly. A few like myself continued to take secret
treatments until the Great Destruction. The numerous
youth renewals I received seemed to have produced in
me an abnormal resistance to death, continuing these
hundreds of years since the last treatment. There
may be scientific explanations for this — but you would
hardly be able to understand them. It is sufficient to
conclude that my nearly three hundred years up to the
Great Destruction had toughened my organs in some
way, adapted me the better to withstand the enemies
of life; the three centuries had perhaps produced
changes in me that made me an entirely different crea-
ture, a logically long-lived creature — ”

“And how did you escape the Great Destruction?”

THE POSTERITY FUND

165

prompted the boy. Both he and the girl had ceased
to wink derisively. Though the village had heard the
story, these two desired to hear it again. “What caused
the Great Destruction?”

I ' HE twentieth century,” began the old man,

A “might well have been called the century of
fads. Especially was this true of the first half of
the century. Overnight some new thing would spring
up, and by morning, be embraced by the entire world.
Thus, among the more frivolous things, we had endur-
ance-dancing, bobbed hair, beauty contests, Ma Jongg
— a sort of game; flapperism — a disrespectful attitude
affected by young women towards proper conduct ; the
quoting of silly words, as, ‘Yes, we have no bananas’;
the chanting of health formulas, as, ‘Every day in every
way I’m getting better and better’ — I could tell you
no end of things like this that were taken up impulsively
by millions of persons. In this way started the Poster-
ity Fund craze.

“It was an old idea, but not until nineteen-thirty-nine
did it seize upon public attention strongly. Then, al-
most overnight, the interest of the entire world was
centered upon Posterity Funds. A small city (Hedras
Hineberg has told you of these human beehives) started
a fund, its prominent business men depositing a thou-
sand dollars in a local bank, this sum to be added to
from time to time and to draw interest for two hun-
dred years. The fund, which at the end of that period
would have amounted to a minimum of one hundred
million dollars, could then be drawn upon and used
by the people for new public buildings or for whatever
other purpose they desired. The whole thing was an
advertising scheme on the part of the business men,
calling attention to themselves and the bank; but
quickly the idea seized upon the sentiment of people
and spread. Within the year practically every city
and town, large or small, had started a posterity fund,
and, in practically every case, the time of maturity for
the fund was set at two hundred years.

“They were an eventful two centuries!” The old
man’s eyes became meditative; in some time-anni-
hilative vision he seemed for a moment to forget his
listeners. “They were the final up-surge, the glorious
last spurt of civilization; all of man’s thousands of
years of efforts were capped in a way beyond belief
in those years. And then to have it all smashed — •
Yet, perhaps it was well after all. Civilization had
advanced too fast for men’s nervous systems. True
progress occurs by a series of waves ; a thousand years
from now your children will have reached greater
heights of achievement — ^with more adaptable nervous
systems; you will therefore hang on longer than we
did, before the crash comes. You are understanding
all of this?”

The boy shook his head doubtfully, then spoke:
“We understand it some; Hedras Hineberg has read
lots of things to us from his book — ^that helps us un-
derstand !”

“Yes,” nodded the old man, “the book helps. A
poor enough work — an encyclopaedia in one volume
and printed in nineteen hundred and twenty-two at

that! — but better than nothing. Many things occurred
in those two centuries — many spectacular things : Man
ceased almost entirely to walk. His automobiles car-
ried him from place to place faster than a mile a min-
ute ; this became too slow, and he resorted to airplanes,
airplanes that traveled several times as fast. Airplanes
became projectiles; the projectiles instead of being
driven by propellers and motors became ray-driven.
Atomic energy was released and put under control; in
the form of rays it was the propelling power of all
things.

“Every person owned an aerocar. Morning and
evening aerocars filled the skies like a swarm of bees,
carrying humans to work or homeward at the rate of
two thousand miles an hour. Men lived in Europe
and worked in America. American farmers took in
the Folks Bergercs — an old time theatre in Paris —
one night, and the next enjoyed a swim off the beach
of some island in the Pacific Ocean. Some people no
longer lived in houses on the ground, but occupied
palatial cars which sped around the earth at a set speed
of about a thousand miles an hour, from east to west,
thus offsetting the earth’s rotation and allowing them
to live in a perpetual daytime or night-time, whichever
they wished.

‘‘But enough of this. Except for a growing nervous-
ness, an inordinate amount of insanity, the people were
quite a bit like the people of today, working, quarreling,
spending their money or saving it. Only, unlike your
people with their little pieces of gold, these other people
rarely saw the money they spent or saved. Nearly
everything was done by check, as doubtless Hedras
Hineberg has explained to you. The most eventful
thing, and the least spectacular, was the coming due of
the Posterity Funds.

“T WAS employed in the International Bank, which
A occupied a gigantic building surrounded by miles
of solid green lawn — the most beautiful structure and
grounds perhaps in the entire world. And well it
should be, considering the wealth behind it, for it was
really a consolidation of many banks, thousands of
banking institutions originally located all over the globe.
Certain methods of handling money — methods that you
would not understand — together with developments in
radio, had made it possible to have fewer and larger
banks instead of having many small ones scattered about
for easy access ; it was never necessary for people to
appear at the bank, at least in person. I was Chief
Teller. One morning early President Carlos Hender-
shot called me into his private office. It was the first
time I had been called in ; so systemized was our organi-
zation, so competent the specialists in each department,
that everything worked like a perfect machine, creating
very little need for conversation between the President
and his subordinates. Not only had I never before
been in the President’s private office, but I had rarely
seen the President. He lived in a realm apart from
the rest of us, arriving and departing in his giant aero-
car by a private entrance to the great building. He
was in reality a stranger, such a stranger as one might
see once in ten or fifteen years, and then for only a

166

AMAZING STORIES

moment and at a distance. So systematized was life.

“He asked me to sit down. As I dazedly complied,
I found opportunity to observe him closely for the
first time, seeing a man of about sixty, with a broad,
sloping brow, an excessively wide face, a beaked nose
and a prominent jaw. A typical executive, thought I.
A fitting head to our colossal establishment ! Then I
noted his eyes, finding in them a peculiar light such as
I have seen in the mentally unbalanced. His move-
ments, as he motioned me to a chair, were extremely
nervous — in keeping with his eyes. He seemed to
radiate tenseness. In a moment however I thought no
more of his peculiarities ; after all, his tenseness was
something frequently seen in other men of great re-
sponsibilities. Two hundred years before, he would
have been deemed on the verge of a breakdown and
advised to rest for his health; in the twenty-second
century, however, he and others like him kept them-
selves going by the use of drugs.

“ ‘Mott, I want you to listen to this !’ he said, and
handed me a radio receiver, a special one supplied by
the Universal Times to subscribers.

“When I had put it to my ear he made an adjust-
ment on the subject dial and I found myself hearing
an item of municipal news from a small city in Cali-
fornia. The people of this city were contemplating
the erection of a new City Hall, to cost fifty million
dollars, and to be paid for out of their Posterity Fund,
maturing twelve months hence. I looked at President
Hendershot questioningly.

“ ‘That city may be one of few intending to draw —
at least draw heavily — on their Posterity Funds, prac-
tically all of which fall due within the year,’ said Hen-
dershot. ‘Again, the action of this city, small though
it is, may start all cities to planning new public build-
ings and the withdrawal of enormous sums from their
funds. Should such a thing occur, it may mean the
end of the International !’

“I was stunned. ‘But how can that be?’ I remember
saying. ‘Every dollar on our accounts is more than
covered by our assets ; nearly every loan is secured by
the most dependable security in the world — land!’

“The President grunted. ‘Evidently you are not a
close follower of the topics of the day. I myself am
not as close a follower of current topics as I should be,
or this thing, which I fear, might have been avoided.
You have heard of the new food ?’

“ ‘The synthetic food?’ I asked.

“The President nodded, ‘When Christopher Scott
announced to the world two years ago "his ability
to produce food artificially, no one took his statement
seriously. Humorists made much fun over the idea,
you remember. Inside of a month the thing was for-
gotten. But a week ago Daniel Steele, champion golfer
of the world, mentioned to press agents that he had
been training on Scott’s synthetic food, and liked it!
You know what that means?’

“ ‘A wave of enthusiasm for the new food !’ I re-
plied.’’

“ ‘Inside of a month the entire world will have tried
the new food,’ said Hendershot. ‘And it will be liked !
I have tasted it myself and find it exceedingly palatable.

The world will take to it, and will stay with it; land
will be practically worthless. I have spoken with Scott.
He makes the food not alone by combining properly
the simple elements of which it is composed — ^he does
more: he changes one element into another. He has
learned something about the real nature of matter ; with
this to guide him, and with experiments of past sci-
entists for a starting point, he has been enabled to
rearrange basic substances in such a way that for ex-
ample what was rock, or wood, or air, becomes a thing
entirely different. He can take an apparently worth-
less boulder and turn it into enough food — many vari-
eties of food, mind you ! — to feed a dozen families for
a year. Thus a hope that land might continue valuable
for raw material, vanished ; food for the entire world
can be manufactured from the material dug from a
few city lots !’

“ ‘But now that you know beforehand the certainty
of a decline in land values, why not dispose of your
farm mortgages and change to safer securities?’ I
suggested.

“ ‘Too late,’ said Hendershot. ‘The Realtors’ Fed-
eration has already sensed what is coming ; among busi-
ness men, the scare is on, and alt we can do is hold the
bag, in hopes that either the food’s popularity is short
lived and there is a swing back to natural food, or that
at the worst, the cities do not begin drawing heavily
on their Posterity Funds. That last thing, I am most
concerned over, and it is concerning it that I called yon
in here. We must keep the cities from making large
drafts on their funds if possible. Through our friends
we must start propaganda against the erection of new
and expensive public buildings. We must broadcast
ideals of thrift. We must hold up to the people’s eyes
the thrift of the Funds’ founders, the thought that
extravagant uses of the Funds would be dishonorable I’

“P RESIDENT HENDERSHOT gave me detailed

Jt instructions as to my work to this end among the
other employees ; then he dismissed me. In thirty days
everybody was eating the new food, just as the Presi-
dent had prophesied. Nor was there a swing back to
the natural food. Farm crops rotted in warehouses;
some farmers realizing the situation planted no crops
when planting time came. In six months we knew
that farming was an industry of the past, the farm
lands of the earth became comparatively worthless.

“Knowing this, we worked hard spreading ideals of
thrift among the people — the people of the cities with
the Posterity Funds. But despite all our efforts, one
city after another began contemplating ways of spend-
ing the vast sums which were soon drawable. Cities
began competing with each other in their plannings.
Where one city announced its intention of building a
fifty million dollar City Hall, another retaliated by an-
nouncing the project of a hundred million dollar public
aerodrome. Some other city hit upon the idea of com-
bining a promenade and park with an aerodrome and
ran the cost up to a hundred and twenty-five millions !
Then there was the city that sought to get ahead of
all the rest'with the plan of enclosing itself completely
with glass, and making its own weather. This was to

THE POSTERITY FUND

167

cost, I think, an amount totalling half a billion dollars 1

“These are but a few instances of what thousands of
cities contemplated. The publics of the entire world
became crazed with the idea of municipal magnificence
— and there was another reason for the enthusiasm also ;
property owners would profit by improvements to the
cities; property owners therefore became propagandists
for extravagances before which our thrift-propaganda
paled to nothing.

“The first Posterity Fund fell due, and was promptly
used to pay contractors for structural work already fin-
ished. It was but a small sum — twenty-five million
dollars I believe — ^and the small city that checked it out
made itself notorious the world over by holding a spec-
tacular carnival to signalize the first benefits from the
Posterity Fund idea. Day after day others availed
themselves of their funds, all of them so far small, for
during the craze of two hundred years before, it had
taken some time to work up to large figures ; but stead-
ily the time approached when the bigger funds — stu-
pendous amounts they were — would mature and be
drawn on to an extent in keeping with their size.

“By wonderful shrewdness on Hendershot’s part the
International had thus far met all its obligations without
wavering. But in some manner word got out that it
would not be able to meet the bigger demands that were
coming. The rumor spread. Persons who had never
before given the inner aspect of banking a thought, now
began studying the situation, seeing for the first time
the effect the synthetic food must have on the banking
business; realizing suddenly that the crash in land
values might soon have an effect upon their savings
accounts. Many withdrew their savings. For a time
the alacrity with which the bank paid over their money
renewed confidence in us. It was but a temporary hold-
ing back of danger, however.

“/~\N the morning of May sixteenth, twenty-one

W hundred and thirty — ”

"Destruction Day," murmured the girl with involun-
tary awe.

“On the morning of the sixteenth,” went on the old
man, “we were drawn upon for one hundred million
dollars, by a South American city, the name of which I
have forgotten. We were still able to pay; we could
have paid this sum and several more like it — ^but Presi-
dent Hendershot, who in the last days had been giving
close attention to details he should have left to his
subordinates, lost his head.

“Grabbing the radio instrument from me, he told the
city treasurer that several days would be required in
which to check up on the sum before it could be paid.
This might have been all right had his voice been calm,
but it was not — ^there was an unmistakable note 'of ex-
citement in it; a fatal thing, considering the past ru-
mors. By mid-morning, looking in our televisions —
apparatus with which we could view the activities of
any part of the world at will — we saw the entire con-
tinent of South America wrought up to the highest
pitch of excitement, business being neglected, volatile
Latins congregating in vociferous mobs on the streets
of the many cities.

“It was the beginning of the end. By noon the less
excitable northern peoples — those of North America,
the northern parts of Europe and Asia — were in a
state of excitement on a par with their southern
brothers. And as the minutes went by, the excitement
increased: every radio instrument in the vast building
of the International was buzzing. Everybody was at-
tempting to draw out his money all at once. Even had
we been able to pay all — which we weren’t — we could
not have paid them all at once; the task would have
taken days." So of course the majority of the depositors
remained unpaid and helped to swell the excitement.

“By three o’clock the world knew the truth. The
excitement changed to definite action on the part of the
people. Perhaps not one per cent of the world-wide
range of depositors had ever visited the International
Bank — or any banking house for that matter. There
had been no need, all business being done by radio and
by lightning-like delivery systems. Now, obeying an
instinct that dated back two or three centuries, men
began swarming to the bank, as though they might in
person do what by civilized means they had failed of
doing.

“At a few minutes after three the first of the aero-
cars began to appear — from points within a few hun-
dred miles radius. They landed on the green lawn like
small beetles seemingly, so large was the lawn in ex-
tent. After landing, people got out and began congre-
gating in little groups, apparently not knowing what
next to do. From moment to moment more cars ar-
rived, some of them single passenger, others big ma-
chines bearing scores of persons. The groups grew in
size and commenced to move toward our building.
When they got within two or three hundred yards the
persons in advance halted. It was clear that the im-
pulse which had caused them to come was not yet strong
enough to overcome the restraining influences of many
civilized generations. For nearly two hundred years
there had been no such thing as a run on a bank ; banks
had come to be regarded as sacred institutions — even
with all the knowledge that the great International was
failing of its trust, the sight of the stupendous build-
ing, the very name itself, seemed to overawe these
people, to make them falter.

“They halted, and crowded up together, as if seeking
confidence from one another. People continued to ar-
rive; by four o’clock huge continental cars from Mex-
ico on the one side and Canada on the other glided down,
a thousand persons alighting from each one. At five
o’clock transatlantic aero-liners were depositing hordes
of passengers every minute ; the air was dark with cars
of every size and make — a veritable cloud of them
swooping in on a hundred different air-levels. The
grounds surrounding the International were no longer
green but a sort of grayish-black, appearing as though
countless millions of strange insects had lit upon the
grass, obliterating it entirely. We were completely en-
circled by humanity, the distant reaches of the mob
tumultuous and pressing nearer, the inner rim of it still
holding back, but constantly being shoved forward by
those behind. Bordering the building was a cement
walk some two hundred feet wide; part of the crowd

168

AMAZING STORIES

swung forward upon this. For some reason it seemed
to give them confidence. One man mounted to the top
of an ornamental post that stood near and began shout-
ing excitedly to the persons farther away. Others took
to shouting; fists were flung above heads; a curious
rippling movement began agitating the miles of close-
packed people.

“The employees’ usual quitting time on that shift
was four, but of one accord all had remained within
the building — nearly two thousand of us. Panic now
seized us. We were behind stone walls, the Bank’s
thick steel doors were closed and locked, the windows
of thick bullet-proof glass were locked — yet we had the
feeling that in some manner the millions outside, by
sheer force of numbers, would be able to make their
way inside.

“I remember seeing in a flash of imagination the
building being toppled as by the waves of a terrific
sea : thousands of men being crushed against the stone
walls by the forces behind; then slowly, relentlessly,
the increasing of the force, the cracking of masonry,
destruction. Again, I found myself visualizing the
over-running of the walls and window ledges, balconies
and the roof itself, as by millions of ants ; one of them
finding some overlooked crevice by which to enter. It
was all reasonless, but the others were with me in the
unreason ; a few minutes after five I was apparently the
sole person remaining in the building. My co-workers
had vanished quietly in little groups, doubtless making
their egress by one of the secret bullion delivery tubes
underground. As it later turned out, all had deserted
but me and President Hendershot.

“T WAS in the dome, round, glass-walled and the

1 highest part of the structure. From this place I
could view the crowds on all sides of the building ; also,
by looking through a circular opening in the floor of
the dome, I could see a part of every floor below me.
It was on looking down that I beheld President Hen-
dershot — saw him standing by a curtained French
door that opened out on a balcony at the building’s
front.

“He intended, seemingly, to step out and attempt to
placate the crowd. For a moment, so futile did such
a plan seem, I thought of following *the other employ-
ees. I could see no use in staying. The Bank seemed
doomed ; I might as well save my life while there was
yet time. I had no illusions as to what the crowd would
do should it once get inside.

“But I was a fatalist; I remember having a strange
feeling that, whatever happened, my time had not yet
come — I would continue to live through it all. From a
state of panic I became very calm. I watched and saw
President Hendershot with grim determination open
the door and step outside. I heard a great mob-shout
well up, such a shout as I had never before heard.
Missiles began flying through the air — a century earlier,
before the great crusade against crime did away with all
firearms, Hendershot would have instantly been killed.
As it was, he plunged hurriedly inside, while a hail of
small stones rattled against the glass of the door.

“The stones seemed to give the mob an idea. The

ornamental stone posts at the edge of the lawn were
beset by as many persons as could get to them, the in-
tention being to use them as battering rams doubtlessly.
But they stood. The battering idea continued to work,
however. Far back a solitary aerocar rose. It was a
small racing car, with the merest suggestion of planes,
and a nose like one of the twentieth century steel-
jacketed bullets. It circled the building, the mob watch-
ing it expectantly. Then it straightened on its course
and came direct for the great main entrance doors!

“T FOUND myself held for an instant in speechless
X admiration at the thing the car’s occupant intended
to do. He was a fool — one of those occasional mad
idealists of history who forget death in a mad moment
of glory; he was magnificent. There wasn’t a chance
that he could survive his deed. He drove straight on-
ward for the doors like a great angry beetle. At two
thousand miles per hour, three thousand feet per sec-
ond, he was just a blurred streak. He struck; there
was a pop, then a rending of woodwork and metal
grillwork on the other side of the bank’s interior; and
where the heavy steel doors had been there was now
a ragged hole toward which the mob began to surge !

“To my ears came the whir of an automatic elevator.
President Hendershot next instant sprang to the floor
on which I was. As I have said, there was a hole in
the floor that gave a view of the different floors below.
Especially did it give a view of the large room or foyer
of the main entrance. The President glanced swiftly
at the entrance, seeing as did I the' first of the mob
pour through the smashed doors.

“Then, with a bound, he was in a little room on one
side of the floor aperture. This was a watchman’s
booth. It was equipped with an inter-department tele-
vision, an instrument with eyepieces through which
the watchman could see the interior of every room in
the entire bank. But the President had not gone in
there for observational purposes! As I saw the next
moment, it was for something quite different.

“As I have mentioned before, scientists had begun
to understand matter. The principle employed by Scott
in his changing of one element into another to aid in
his producing food artificially had been employed to
further less praiseworthy things ; warfare for instance.
A colonel of air forces had discovered that air may be
changed to a deadly poison gas by changing slightly the
orbits traveled by the electrons that, along with protons,
compose it. (You do not understand what I mean by
‘electrons’ perhaps — but they are tiny particles which
are parts of larger particles along with protons, which
finally, in great numbers, make the thing known as
air.) He worked the proper change in these electrons
by playing upon them an electric current transformed
by fire being passed through a disk-shaped instrument
that produced a peculiar wavelength.

“With this transforming apparatus warfare became
such a deadly business that every nation quickly became
peaceful, and the death-dealing weapon which the
colonel had invented found a use in industry : it was a
fine thing to use against burglars. In the booth in the
dome of the International Bank was a series of buttons.

THE POSTERITY FUND

169

electric switches, levers and dials. The watchman, by
pressing a certain button, closed the doors of any room
he chose, at the same time turning the room’s atmos-
phere into a deadly gas. This kind of protection, of
course, cosld not be resorted to when the room might
contain employees of the bank, but only on occasions
when the sole person appearing in the room would be
a burglar.

“President Hendershot pulled a lever and pushed a
button. Instantly the aperture in the first-floor ceiling
became closed, shutting off my view of what must hap-
pen to the throng that rushed in, and at the same time
securing us from the poisoned air. For a moment I
thought the President’s plan had succeeded ; then I saw
the mob continue pressing to the door from outside.
The President peered into the eyepieces of the tele-
vision and his hands began shaking as if palsied. He
pressed other buttons, pulled other levers. I remember
rushing forward and shouting: ‘What’s the matter?’

“ ‘The open main doors !’ he ejaculated.

“Then I knew. The electric current was too weak
to be effective in a place with open doors; the poison
gases were diffused and diluted by the outer air.

“TJELOW, I heard a tremendous commotion — ^the
X) noise of thousands of persons swarming up the
inclined planes that served as stairways. I saw the
President tear the transformer disk — a plate-like thing
of copper and blued steel — from between two small
wires, and next saw him leap with it to a high-power
radio transmitting apparatus. He cut a wire that led
to an aerial outside and in an instant had clamped the
two ends in sockets on either side of the transformer
disk. He turned a knob ; there was a low, deep, droning
sound. He sprang back to the booth and pulled a lever,
closing the hole in our floor.

“We were now in an air-tight dome. I still heard
the commotion of ascending footsteps. Then suddenly
the commotion ceased. I looked out through the glass
walls of the dome — and where a tumultuous mob had
been, there was nothing but motionless, prone bodies.
I glanced skyward: aerocars had been continuing to
arrive, the sky quite black with them ; now the clouds of
them had become an erratic maze of uncontrolled mr.-
chines. They sped this way and that, colliding with one
another, car after car dropping to earth, some in a
blaze of fire.

“I realized now what had happened: Hendershot’s
ingenious insertion of the transformer disk into the
powerful radio set had changed a puny gas-making ap-
paratus into one of unbelievable capacity; the atmos-
phere for miles around had been transformed to poison
gas, and this had, of course, entered through the broken
main doors and killed those who came up the inclines.

“This I realized, and more. With horror it came to
me that perhaps the air of the entire country was being
turned to poison gas. The radio had a loud speaking
radius of twenty-five thousand miles; we had tested
it out once by broadcasting a series of messages around
the earth. Its tremendous power might well be broad-
casting death over a great area.

“I leaped toward the instrument, my hand out-

stretched to turn it off. Just as I had almost reached
it a body hurled itself upon me and I was borne to the
floor. President Hendershot was gripping me with the
power of an insane person. As I struggled about so
that I faced him, I saw that he was indeed insane. His
habitual nervousness, his intensity of gaze, had become
the frenzy, the glaring gaze of a madman.

“I got to my feet and we writhed and twisted and
clawed as ferociously as a pair of primitive beasts. I
tried to work my way to the knob; Hendershot, with
the purpose of a demented fiend bent upon mfirder, kept
me from getting to it. Above the radio set was a huge
silver screen, a gigantic television object-field that gave
glimpses of different parts of the world in a continuous
flicker of pictures. It operated whenever broadcasting
was being done. Now, happening to glance up as we
struggled about the room, I caught a glimpse of a
thronged street that I knew instantly for the Boulevard
des Italiens of Paris, France — and even as the picture
flickered to my eyes the throngs melted like grain before
a sickle. Not only was death being broadcast over a
large area of country, it was being broadcast over the
entire globe 1

I 'HE awfulness of the thifig lent me new power. I

A realized in a dim sort of horror that the life of
the entire planet depended upon me, depended upon my
reaching and turning the knob of the radio set. With a
frenzied force I tore loose from Hendershot and sprang
toward the knob. He leaped in front of me, blocking
me. For a moment we dodged from side to side, Hen-
dershot with his back to the knob, body crouched, fin-
gers crooked ready to seize me. I had no confidence
in my ability to wrench free from his clutch a second
time, so for the instant I was wary, keeping clear of his
hands — at the same time trying to think of some means
to get to the knob.

“Even as we dodged back and forth the increasing
necessity for turning off the current grew apparent : on
the television screen new pictures were flashing in swift
succession — a public square in Madrid, Spain, lit up
to dazzling brightness by its great white arc-lights, its
promenades covered with prone bodies ; Cairo, Egypt,
its narrow streets cluttered with motionless figures and
with figures that constantly fell and became motionless ;
high up in the Himalayas, in a monastery, black-gowned
monks sank to the rough stones of their high-walled
courtyard; in a rubber settlement in the jungles of
South America swarthy-skinned laborers staggered and
went to earth, a dog sank down and stretched himself
out as if overcome by slumber, a bird fell out of the
sky, landing beside the dog’s head. . . . There were
scores of other pictures, and in some few instances
there were as yet no dead; it was the possibility that
some regions were protected by a peculiar state of the
atmosphere and would be immune for a few minutes,
that made me continue trying to reach the knob.

“All this while I was weaving about — and thinking,
thinking desperately. Out of my boyhood, two and a
half centuries back, came recollection of a favorite
sport, one that had long since been discontinued by the
world — ^boxing. Not the clumsy boxing of the present.

170

AMAZING STORIES

your era, but scientific boxing. I feinted, then crashed
my fist into the mad President’s jaw. The force of all
my frenzy was in that blow ; it knocked the man down.

“I was twenty feet from the knob, and Hendershot
was on the floor. I rushed for the knob, seeing Hen-
dershot rise to his hands and knees. Afraid that he
might attempt grasping my legs, I darted far to one
side of him. But he was intent on another thing, as
next instant developed. I heard a click — I should have
paid it no attention, but the sound of it and what it
meant caused me to whirl when within three strides
of the knob.

“Hendershot, I saw now, had reached and pulled the
lever that opened the air-tight floor door to the dome !

“It was the act of a madman ; even as I realized what
he had done and turned frantically to reach the knob
while there was yet life in me, that life seemed cut off.
I felt myself being gripped by a strange, swift numb-
ness. There was no pain; there was no clouding of
brain — my mental action and eyesight remained unim-
paired. But I seemed to have practically lost the power
of movement. My hand was within a foot of the knob ;
as though the air was glue and I was stuck fast in it,
I struggled forward that foot. I remember how, as
inch by inch, my fingers drew nearer the knob, the
scenes on the television screen continued flashing, each
new picture bringing to me added horror, greater des-
peration.

“At last my fingers touched the knob. This I knew
by sight only; there was no feeling in my fingers at
all. I managed to curve my fingers around the knob — ■
and could not turn it ! My arm and hand, my entire
body, seemed to have become dead as cold marble. I
was like a marble statue, standing there with my hand
on the knob that held in it the destiny of Civilization-
unable to give it the twist, the mere half-twist that was
necessary !

“I have since wondered how it was that I was able
to remain on my feet, why I did not fall ; but I suppose
it was due to a peculiar rigidity of muscles accompany-
ing the paralysis; rigidity and the fact that my hand
was on the knob, giving me support. I remember try-
ing to fall, thinking that the movement might cause the
knob to turn; but I hadn’t even the power to throw
myself off balance ! All I could do was to stand there,
a corpse in every way except mentally; a staring, hor-
ror-stricken corpse, seeing the human race’s destruc-
tion in a series of pictures that flashed continuously on
the television screen. White-lit metropolises, little
towns and big ; villages in remote recesses of the Alps ;
resorts on South Sea Island beaches ; settlements in the
heart of African jungles; wherever there was a radio
station, there arose the pictures — pictures all alike, clut-
tered with prone bodies. For eternities I seemed to
stand there, seeing those flashing pictures; then my
senses failed me.

•‘T CAME to on the floor. The pictures had ceased
X to flash, the radio to buzz ; this, of course, was be-

cause the power plant that supplied the current had
ceased operation; its personnel was dead. It was due
to this and another fact, that I still lived. The other
fact was — the door in the floor below the dome was
closed; thus the dome was fed only the poisonous at-
mosphere in the room beneath, which probably con-
tained but a trace, enough to paralyze me only tem-
porarily.

“Hendershot, however, had not fared as well as I.
He was dead. I do not think the poison alone killed
him ; I think it was probably a combination of weak
heart, shattered nerves, and the poison.

“At any rate, he was quite dead when I rose to my
feet — and so, I had no doubt, was the balance of man-
kind. It was only after years of wandering over the
fast-crumbling ruins of that past great civilization, that
I found myself incorrect in my belief — I found a
hunchback, a half -demented creature, living like a rat
in a damp basement of a huge office building in New
York. He had survived, as a few animals had sur-
vived, by some strange fluke of fate, while all about
him had perished. It was not much to go on, but it
gave me hope; the hope, that after nearly four cen-
turies led me finally across the continent of North
America and to the first of the little stone-walled villages
of your people, the start of the new white race — steeped
in ignorance!”

T he Boy and the girl looked at each other as the
old man finished speaking — ^looked at each other
and blinked as if waking from the depths of an en-
ticing but not very understandable dream.

“That may have been your way of escaping the Great
Destruction,” voiced the boy, with a sly wink to the
girl.

“But our way — our people’s way — was different,”
took up the girl. “As everyone knows, and as such an
old man as you ought to know, the Angry One told our
people, the Chosen — some men and women by the name
Smith and Williams and a few others — ^to get into a
kind of boat that went under water where they would
be safe. When they came up everybody was dead from
the Great Anger — ”

“The boat,” broke in the old man, “was a submarine.
It was the habit of people sometimes to go on ocean-
bottom excursions in such craft ; due to carrying their
own supply of oxygen, the persons in this craft nat-
urally were saved, coming to the surface after the
poison had been dissipated. It was natural, of course,
that significance should be attached to their lieing saved
in such a manner — ”

The old man broke off with a hopeless shrug, called
to his wolfish dog and trudged wearily away.

For a little while boy and girl watched him, saw him
grow dim in the trail’s gloom, a wanderer whose des-
tination was a vaguely known region of great wilder-
nesses and few people. Then, “The old liar!” said
the boy, and hand in hand the two started back to the
village of stone huts.

THE END.

The English at the North Pole

By Jules Verne

(Continued from page 137)

no responsibility now; I shall watch the course of
events and do whatever I am told without expressing
an opinion.”

“Let me tell you, Shandon, you are wrong. This is
a question of our common interest, and imprudence on
the captain’s part may cost us all dear.”

“And would he listen. Wall, if I were to speak?”

Wall could not reply in the affirmative. He evaded
the question by asking whether the representations of
the crew would have more effect.

“The crew!’ repeated Shandon, shrugging his shoul-
ders. “Why, Wall, you surely cannot have noticed the
men. They are not caring the least about their safety
just now. All they know is, that they are getting near
the 72nd parallel, and that each degree beyond that will
bring them a thousand pounds I”

“You are right, Shandon,” replied Wall. “The cap-
tain knows the best way to keep his men.”

“For the present, at any rate, it is the best,” replied
Shandon.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that while there is no danger and no hard
work, things will go on very well. Hatteras has caught
them with a golden bait, but what’s only done for money
is never much worth. Wait till we get into difficult and
trying circumstances ; wait till sickness, and cold, and
misery, and despondency come upon us, and all the
calamities towards which we are madly rushing, and
you’ll see how few of them will think much of the
prize to be won.”

“Then you don’t think, Shandon, that Hatteras will
succeed in his attempt?”

“No, Wall, he will not succeed. An enterprise like
this requires perfect harmony of thought and feeling
among the leaders, and this is wanting among us. More
than that, Hatteras is a madman. All his past history
proves it. Well, we shall see. A time may come when
he will be compelled to give up the command of the
ship to a less venturesome man.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Wall, with a doubt-
ful shake of the head. “He will always have some to
stand by him ; he will have ”

“He will have Dr. Clawbonny,” said Shandon, in-
terrupting him, “a learned man who cares for nothing
but learning ; Johnson, a sailor, who is a slave to dis-
cipline, and who never takes the trouble to examine a
question ; and perhaps one or two others, such as Bell,
the carpenter, not more than four at the outside — four
out of eighteen of us. No, Wall; Hatteras has not
the confidence of the crew, and he knows that well
enough. He bribes them with money. He man-
aged to work on their excitable natures very cleverly
with the Franklin story; but that won’t last, I tell

you, and if he does not succeed in reaching Beechey
Island, he is ruined.”

“If the crew only suspected that

“I beg you say nothing to them whatever on the sub-
ject. They will soon make their own remarks. More-
over, we could not do better meantime than continue
our present course. Perhaps, after all, what Hatteras
thinks is going north may prove to be going back. Mc-
Clintock Channel opens into Melville Bay, but that
succession of straits that leads to Baffin Bay, begins
there, too ; Hatteras had better take care 1 The road
to the east is easier than to the north.”

Shandon’s words revealed his secret sentiments. No
wonder Hatteras felt he was a traitor.

As far as the crew went, however, his opinion of
them was quite right. Their contentment was entirely
owing to the prospect of soon reaching the 72nd par-
allel. The love of money had taken complete posses-
sion of them, and Clifton had calculated accurately the
sum that would fall to each. There were sixteen men
altogether on board, not counting the captain and the
Doctor, who, of course, were not to share in the prize.
The amount promised was £1,000; that gave £62 10s
to each individual. Should they ever reach the pole,
the eighteen degrees more would enrich them still fur-
ther with a sum of £1,125 — quite a fortune. This
would cost the captain £ 18,000, but he was rich enough
to be able to pay it.

On the 16th of June the Forzvard coasted past Cape
Aworth. The white peaks of Mount Rawhnson seemed
to pierce the very heavens, the snow and fog making
its height appear colossal. The temperature was still
some degrees above freezing point. Cascades and cat-
aracts were rushing down the sides of the mountains,
and the loud noise of falling avalanches struck upon
the ear like the continuous discharge of heavy artillery,
reverberating over the glaciers for an immense distance.
It was a splendid spectacle, and the ship hugged the
coast so closely that objects were distinctly visible.
Rare heaths were discovered growing on sheltered
rocks, with their pink flowers timidly peering above
the snow. A few miserable looking lichens of a red-
dish color were also seen, and a dwarf willow, which
crept along the ground.

At last, on the 19th of June, the 72nd parallel was
crossed, and the brig entered Melville Bay — ^the “Sil-
ver Bay,” as Bolton christened it. On the 25th, in
spite of a strong breeze from the N.E., she passed
the 74th degree, and found herself in Melville Sound,
one of the largest in those regions. It was Captain
Parry who first traversed it in his great expedition in
1819, and it was for this his crew gained the prize of
£5,000 offered by Government.

THE END OF PART I

171

!w« INVISIBLE HNITE

By ]{pbert A.yVait

may readily see that as the bicycle wheel
;eds up and revolves faster and faster,
spokes, though shiny and bright, tend
disappear. The vision is practically un-
paired by these rapidly moving objects
even though they be made of steel. Generally, the
impression is that an object moving rapidly becomes
more and more difficult to observe or even see as the
speed of motion increases.”

Professor Moore hesitated, to allow the full signifi-
cance of his statement to sink into the more or less
intelligent group of students in his advanced science
problems class.

“To those of you who follow closely, I may point
out that this very simple phenomenon may, at some
time, take on a vastly important significance. Obvi-
ously, if we can cause the spokes of a common bicycle
to completely disappear by moving them rapidly before
our eyes, it would be possible to extend this principle
to still larger and more complex uses. Whole parts
of a machine may be made to disappear or even the
threads of a cloth might be made invisible by causing
sufficiently rapid motion of the same.”

He paused, gazed over his spectacles at the more
interested students and, as was his habit, smiled in a
rather uncertain way as though half expectant that at
least the best students would get the full significance
of his remarks. This time he was not disappointed, for
the attention of the entire class was focused upon the
problem being placed before them. To even the least
imaginative, the idea of causing a piece of cloth or
perhaps a whole automobile
to completely disappear was
interesting and smacked of
Aladdin at his best.

“One more thought to
:arry away with you, gentle-
men,” continued the gentle
old man, thoroughly pleased
by now that his lecture had
so caught the fancy of his
class. “If you will observe,
not only does the rapid
revolution of the wheel
cause the spokes to become entirely invisible, depend-
ing a great deal upon the speed of revolution for total
elimination of any noticeable flickerings of each spoke,
but also, and most important, objects through and
beyond the wheel become clear, distinct, and in fact,
appear in detail and clarity exactly as though there were
no revolving wheel and spokes between the eye and the
object. Generally, of course, to make an object invis-
ible would leave a sort of blank space in the surround-
ing landscape, inasmuch as the object would still be
matter which would not pass light rays striking it from

behind. I admit this is a rather fantastic idea and
seems rather improbable of realization in practical
fields, yet I repeat, young men, this phenomenon,
coupled with certain discoveries in the field of the
smaller divisions of matter as we know it, leads some
of us to hope and suspect the presence of some means
used by nature to cause certain of the more rapidly
moving particles of matter to completely disappear,
thus allowing us to ‘see through’ them, ofttimes with
no consciousness of their presence.”

The class bells rang and the students stirred uneas-
ily, humanly desiring the satisfaction of their lunches.
The professor sighed, sorry that the period was at an
end, for he was deeply interested in his problem and
hoped to interest others to the same extent. Calling
his two graduate students to him, he asked them to aid
him that afternoon in laboratory work which seemed
to be confirming his theories on light, its reflection and
interference effects.

‘•■\TOU will remember that during the World War in
X 1917 or thereabouts many attempts were made by
the government, and by private parties, too, to make a
cover on the lower side of airplane wings with such a
perfect surface that they could obtain a perfect reflec-
tion. That is to say, no lines or shadows showing, there
could be no distinction made by the eye between the
plane or wing and the surrounding objects or sky.”

The professor was speaking to his two graduate stu-
dents the afternoon following his lecture on the bicycle
wheel. They had before them several sets of appara-
tus that appeared to be
most complicated. On one
side of the experimental
room was a completely fit-
ted laboratory for working
with chemicals and the com-
pounds that interested these
students of nature in her
physical and chemical fields.
While speaking to the
young men, one a tall young
Irishman, Jerry Murphy,
the other a dark young
Brazilian of exceptional mental ability, Carlos Manoras
by name, the grey haired scientist rubbed a piece of
shiny metal vigorously. The metal seemed to be an
alloy, dark blue to purple in color, very tough, hard,
and rolled into unbelievably thin sheets. One after
another the sheets were handled by a member of the
trio. The process seemed to be one in which the razor-
edge sheets were given a coating of an oily liquid and
then rubbed clean and dry with especially fine silk cloth.

“Needless to say,” the deep-voiced young South
American took up the thread of thought where the

TJ^HEN a Scientist turns “Scientifictionist,” something
rr good is to be expected. The author of this story is an
instructor in chemistry in the James Millikin University in
Illinois, He is also a Research Chemist in his spare hours.
With these facts in mind, the brilliant endeavor from his
pen svill gain additional momentum, for you will know that
an authority speaks, A great deal that the author brings
yon is new, which makes one realise more than ever that
there are few things in science that can be called impossible.
We heartily recommend this story to you.

172

The professor plugged the electric cord of the big machine into a wall socket, and snapped on a switch at the base of the
aluminum casing. Instantly a brilliant red streamer flashed toward the ceiling, suffusing the room in a carmine glow . . ,
the two students started back from this demon of light, half frightened by the thousands of sparks and streaks of i^niature
lightning crashing across the gaps on the colls below the main part of the machine.

173

174

AMAZING STORIES

professor had dropped it in adding an especially fine
film of the polishing material to his sheet of the beau-
tiful purple metal, “no such a surface was ever de-
veloped. If the attempt to get perfect reflection had
succeeded, the results would have been very disappoint-
ing, for the airplane must at times pass through or
below clouds, and even with a perfect reflection, the
outlines of the plane would be visible, for the rough
surface of a cloud or a landscape would cause the
smooth edges of the plane to stand out as though they
were painted a brilliant color. The whole plane would
present a sort of blank space, as you mentioned this
morning.”

“Of course, the idea sounds good at first and is, in
a sense,” rejoined young Murphy, removing his col-
legiate briar from his mouth long enough to propound
a thought. “The big difficulty would be that, from
above, the plane would be perfectly visible not only be-
cause of reflection but because of the obstruction of
the light rays striking the bottom of the “invisible”
plane. It would be a dumb pilot who wouldn’t rec-
ognize the outlines of a plane below him, since, of
course, the landscape below would be cut off from ob-
servation by the material part of the wings and fusilage.
Matter moving at such a slow rate would not be at all
permeable to light rays.”

“You are both right,” Dr. Moore continued. “While
it is, or we’d better say, probably is, possible to create
matter in such a fme state of division that the particles
are invisible to the naked eye and hence the whole
material becomes invisible, or a perfect reflector, since
there are no longer any irregularities to be seen, yet we
cannot by this means alone cause the existence to be-
come absolutely unrecognizable to the eye, since even
such matter would not pass the light rays striking its
back.”

They piled the sheets up in a well-ordered stack, and
the professor clamped them securely together. The
whole they covered with a box or sort of cover con-
structed of pure fused quartz, so well fused and treated
that it was practically clear of all flaws or blemishes.
Jerry straightened up, cast about with his laughing
blue eyes, and finally went over to where a rather large
machine stood mounted on a set of wheels, much like
the carriage of a movable X-ray apparatus. The ma-
chine itself resembled a violet ray machine with a large
bulb of cherry-red clear glass superimposed upon its
top. This bulb seemed to have five electric connections
that ran down into the bulb to a sort of reflecting anodes,
shaped much like the anode reflector in an X-ray ma-
chine. In fact, the five-fingered affair looked as
though it might he a freak Roentgen ray generator,
the excess anodes giving higher power, perhaps. The
blunt ends of the anti-cathodes were exceptionally pe-
culiar in this large tube — there seemed to be no end!
There was no hole, nor was there a visible surface. That
the anode rod was solid could be proved by feeling the
end, but all attempts to see any surface resulted in a
sort of confusing impression of void space.

“I see you have treated the ends of these anodes,
doctor,” observed Manoras, examining the machine
that Murphy was trundling toward the covered pile

of glistening metal sheets. ‘They appear not to be,
yet I am conscious of a visual impression of some sort
of matter. The impression is extremely vague and un-
certain.”

“That,” said the doctor, smiling shyly at the two
students, “that is my very latest attempt at a perfect
precipitation of colloidal platinum in the sub-micro-
scopic sized particles. You can’t see very much be-
cause the light is reflected by the tiny particles in so
many millions of ways that nothing but a vague im-
pression of grey existence gets to your retina. As a
matter of fact, most of these particles are of dimen-
sions smaller than the wavelength of ordinary visible
light, and so it takes a small group of them to reflect
even one wave of light. Naturally, they diffuse it greatly
since the colloidal nature of the material makes the
deposit far from even or solid in surface nature. You
will remember that molecules are invisible to the eye,
even aided by the microscopes of highest power. Were
we to start 'grinding a material from small chunks down
to fine particles, even though we trace the pieces
through a microscope, we will sometime have reached,
were it possible to grind that fine, the molecular sized
particles. Now, limiting ourselves to a single molecule,
we would have ground a material from quite visible
lumps clear down through the colloidal sized aggrega-
tions, and finally we would have ground it into invisi-
bility. Truly, that would be most odd, yet it is theo-
retically possible, as you can see.”

“Frankly, professor, what are you trying to do with
this work we are helping you to complete?”

I T was a natural and just question that young Mur-
phy asked, and the professor had long expected it.
Two young men, bright and intelligent workers in
physical chemistry, would indeed be poor scientists if
they were content to plod along doing routine jobs
for another with no thought as to what was happen-
ing or going to happen as a result of their careful
labor. The professor sighed as he mentally noted that
here again youth would outstrip age, albeit age had
contributed the driving force and started the great idea
down the swift descent to realization. Dr. Moore knew
well that once his purposes were known to the two
young men, ideas would flow in voluminous streams
from the trained intelligences housed in the rusty-red
head of the Irish lad and the dark, bushy head of the
Brazilian. Better try to dam up the Mississippi than
to stop the flow of thought from two such trained men-
talities. No matter, the work would go on and the
success would not be his alone. Dr. Moore, as a true
scientist, would share in the glory of discovery.

“Jerry, Carlos — ”

From this formal salutation the boys recognized a
serious turn in the professor’s thoughts. They ceased
their adjustment work and leaned against the work
table in expectant silence.

“You have both worked faithfully and without ques-
tion at whatever task I assigned you. I want you to
know that I sincerely appreciate all you have done. I
am about to disclose to you what will make you both
famous and prosperous for life. I am an old man. I

THE INVISIBLE FINITE

175

cannot hope for more than ten, possibly twenty, years
of life. The glory will be ours ; yours for a long life,
mine for a short decade. Your ideas will supersede
mine. I will fall more or less into the background. For
that I do not care — only this would I ask of you: al-
ways consider me as the origin of your success. With
that, I am more than satisfied.”

The wondering youths hastened to reassure Dr.
Moore that whatever it might be, they were far below
him in honor and would always put him first in glory
and esteem. The professor smiled a bit wanly and
nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment. Be-
hind the smile was a tear, not of self-pity but of sor-
row that the human race was so fickle. Despite these
vehement reassurances, the professor knew well that it
would not be long before the entire proposition would
be out of his hands. He would be just “the professor,”
to be consulted only when the younger men struck a
snag in the work. Soil! It was ever thus — and as a
true scientist, the professor prepared to sacrifice his
all, that science might gain the knowledge that he pos-
sessed.

“My purpose in this work is to produce a material
which will have all the properties of solid matter ex-
cept visibility to human eyes. I have reached the point
theoretically where I am certain it can be done. You
can see the result of my treatment of the anodes, and
our discussion of invisible planes should bring you to
see the possibilities that are involved. The proposi-
tion is simply this: As you know, matter, if moving
rapidly enough and at the same time far enough in one
line, becomes invisible to the human eye, allowing the
objects on the other side of the matter to become plainly
visible. Again, you know from our work that when
matter is divided as particles become smaller and
smaller in size, we see them with more and more diffi-
culty. We have spoken of grinding a material from
large chunks, quite visible, down through the colloidal
stage into sub-microscopic particles that are invisible
to the eye — a sort of grinding into invisibility. This
has not been found possible as yet, though from my
anode treatment in the X-ray machine there, you can
get the effect of grey void, the best attempt yet made
at invisible colloidal material.”

“Of course, all matter is made up of atoms and
molecules which are in constant motion, the velocity of
which varies according to the particular material; all,
however, are extremely rapid in motion. According
to our experiment with the spokes of the bicycle, this
motion should cause the particles to become invisible.
The fact that, though in rapid motion these particles
are visible in the aggregate, is explained by the very
short length of the path of motion. All solid and
some liquid matter has the particles in it so arranged
as to allow each particle to vibrate about a mean point,
much as a ball on the end of an elastic cord. Could
these particles be induced to stretch these forces and
vibrate at enormously larger distances than their nat-
ural period, it would seem possible to cause them to
become invisible, much as the increase in the speed of
rotation of the spokes in a wheel causes the spokes to
lend to disappear. Now, could we combine the two

theories — rapid motion in comparatively long paths,
and sub-microscopic size in particles — both of which
cause more or less invisibility, we should have an in-
visible material.

“To me, it is evident that the gases as we know them
are invisible, except for color, because of two things:
First, the state of subdivision is so minute that we get
practically no reflection, or perhaps we might better
say that the particles are so small that one will not re-
flect a light wave — the wave is longer than the particle
is large in diameter. Since our second point is that
these particles are not held in a mean position by any
forces, but travel in Brownian movement in straight
random paths until they rebound with perfect elasticity
when they collide, thus never losing any velocity, I con-
clude that the velocity of the particles, coupled with
the length of their paths of travel and their very small
size, causes them to become invisible to the eye.”

The young men had shifted their positions until they
were half reclining on the work table, very intent on
what the professor was saying. They were absorbing
every word with the agility of a mind intent on learn-
ing. It was evident that the professor’s arguments were
convincing the South American lad, and even Jerry’s
face was glowing in eager anticipation of further ex-
planation of their work.

“That’s a very plausible theory to me.” Carlos spoke
with great enthusiasm, his mobile face animated with
an interest even greater than Dr. Moore had hoped to
inspire.

“Tell us what all this has to do with these alloy
sheets and this mysterious machine you have never
explained to us, doctor. Your theory is certainly stag-
gering, but I am a bit incredulous yet. Remember the
scientific attitude we learned in freshman years —
‘Never jump to a conclusion because the evidence
seems strong.’ You yourself have often cautioned stu-
dents against too hasty acceptance of ideas that are
apparently wonderful in possibilities.”

Y oung Murphy uttered the latter part of his not
too enthusiastic comment in half apology for even
seeming to dispute Dr. Moore. He was a hard-headed
young fellow, hut, as with most Irish people, as lovable
as could be found. It was only because he was a good
scientist that he was skeptical. Early in his career he
had learned that scepticism was not a vice — more of a
virtue, ofttimes preventing false conclusions based on
insufficient evidence.

“These sheets that we’ve been working on are an
alloy of gold. You know that many alloys of gold are
extremely hard and that some alloys are beautiful in
color. This alloy has both gold and uranium in it.
The uranium is present in only minute quantities. It
is present because of its radio-active properties. This
seems to promote the activity I am after. The polish-
ing process which we go through is to cover the sheets
of alloy with a thin coat of the colloidal platinum like
that I used on the anodes of our Z-ray machine. I
call it Z-ray because I really know no other name for
the particular ray I produce with the machine. The
oily liquid we use is a chloro-platinate which I reduce

176

AMAZING STORIES

to platinum, catalytically, in the presence of some gase-
ous reducing agent such as hydrogen or carbon monox-
ide. This leaves the freed platinum in the sub-colloidal
state. The oil forms a coating only ten or twenty
molecules thick. With the very fine state of division
of the platinum, we obtain the hazy impression of grey
void noticed on the ends of the anodes.”

“I can see that easily,” interrupted Manoras, “but
I don’t see that this coating will make the alloy pass
the light rays reflected by other objects.”

“No, that is true ; it won’t pass light rays — ^yet. Bring
that black enameled cabinet in the fume-hood. We’ll
just start this to going and explain as we do it.” The
professor turned to the chemistry table.

Jerry strode to the fume-hood and carefully extri-
cated the indicated enameled cabinet from the maze of
apparatus. True to form, the professor of science had
apparatus strewn from end to end of the two-room
suite of laboratories.

Dragging a large steel cylinder across the floor, the
professor directed manipulations so that he could con-
nect the steel cylinder directly to the top of the cab-
inet, placing a Bunsen burner beneath so as to heat
the sheet iron bottom of the cabinet.

Deftly Dr. Moore removed the clamped stack of
treated alloy foil from its temporary housing under
the quartz covering and placed it in the cabinet. Care-
fully closing the black doors and snapping the catches,
the professor waved the boys aside.

“The treated sheets are in a gas-tight, heated com-
partment. You will note the jet at the bottom of the
cabinet. We fill this cabinet with carbon monoxide
from this cylinder, and since the gas is very slightly
lighter than air, we may force the air out through the
jet, and by testing frequently with the flame, determine
when carbon monoxide has completely filled the cab-
inet. Since carbon monoxide burns with a bright blue
flame, we can easily determine when the gas is escap-
ing from the jet. This we ignite and allow to burn,
both to be sure of a constant flow of the reducing agent
and to prevent our own asphyxiation from its deadly
effect on the hemoglobin of our blood.”

The genial old man suited actions to his words and
after a few trials, a bright blue flame shot out in a
three-inch jet from the base of the cabinet. The jet
was so arranged as to burn the gas under the cabinet.

“The burning jet of the escaping gas furnishes
enough heat to keep the reaction going after we start
it with a Bunsen burner, as you see I am doing. Please
move that Roentgen ray machine over here and direct
a stream of X-rays through the cabinet.”

The two youths quickly had the bulb in action, the
anode red with the impact of the electron stream strik-
ing upon it.

“The gas I am about to entrain in the stream of
carbon monoxide is my catalyst. It is only necessary
to put in a very small amount as, once the action is
started, it goes on without further catalysis.”

Dr. Moore attached a small tube of colorless gas to
the side valve on the gas cylinder, and opened the glass
stop-cock on it. A hiss of escaping gas under pres-
sure, and the professor removed the emptied tube.

“The gas I have allowed to flow in is a form of
gaseous sodium metal. I suppose really I should say
a mixture of colloidal sodium vapor and inert argon.
The sodium alone will not cause the catalytic action,
the argon being necessary to the action. Please note
the burning jet under the cabinet.”

The flame had suddenly turned from the blue of a
carbon monoxide flame to the bright yellow-orange, so
well known as the flame-test color of sodium or its
compounds.

“Remind me to shut off the gas and remove the
plates in four minutes. In the meantime, let us look
over this Z-ray machine.”

T he professor plugged the electric cord of the big
machine into the wall socket and snapped on a
switch at the base of the aluminum casing. Instantly
a brilliant red streamer flashed toward the ceiling, suf-
fusing the room in a carmine glow. At the base of
the machine a blinding bar of crystal light swayed
drunkenly for a moment, then steadied to a rigid rod.
It struck against a quartz plate and seemed to be dis-
integrated or absorbed thereby. The two students
started back from this demon of light, half frightened
by the crackle and roar of the thousands of sparks and
streaks of miniature lightning crashing across the gaps
on the coils below the main part of the machine.

“Have no fear, young men. The light is quite harm-
less as long as you do not get the crystal light on you.
Note — it is not white ; it is simply a rod of cold, crystal-
colored light. You are conscious of its extreme in-
tensity. Some of its intensity is converted into radiant
energy as it strikes the quartz plate, the only thing 1
have found that is not affected by the Z-ray. It alone
I have found will disintegrate the ray — ^how, I do not
know.”

“My word! What a machine! Tell us what it is
and how it works.”

Manoras switched off the machine and mopped his
forehead with a white handkerchief. The sudden
change had rather upset the nerves of the two younger
men.

“As you may have guessed, this machine is for the
purpose of increasing the length of the path of the
particles in any liquid or solid body — a sort of stretch-
ing machine. Every particle has its own period of vi-
bration, and to increase the length of the vibratory path,
one must get into tune with the vibration, so to speak.
If one tries to increase the length of the swing of a
pendulum, he must move his hand at the same speed
and vibration as the pendulum. If we can push the
particles some way in their path so as to increase the
length of their paths, we will reach the point where
the size and speed of the particles will cause them to
become invisible.”

“Yes, but how can this infernal red streak and glow
cause that change ? I don’t see any connection between
this machine and pushing particles around.”

Jerry Murphy spoke rather belligerently, and the pro-
fessor smiled at the impetuous lad he had had for so
many months in his classes.

“Jerry,” began the kindly voice, “I realize that there

THE INVISIBLE FINITE

177

is apparently no connection between the machine and
increasing the velocity of molecules. You will get
more from the idea if you will suspend judgment a
while. The red glow is caused by the colloidal gold in
the ruby glass over the top. The particles in the glass
are exceedingly small aggregations of molecules of gold
suspended in the super-cooled liquid we call glass.
These transmit and reflect red light. The size of the
colloidal particle controls the color of light to be re-
flected or transmitted. In the case of the blue light
reflected from tobacco smoke or some wood smokes,
the particle is of such size as to cause Tyndall’s law to
take effect. You will remember Tyndall found that in
reflecting white light, colloidal particles of this size re-
flected the colors of the rainbow in intensities inversely
proportional to the fourth power of their wavelengths.
Thus, since the blue light has the shortest ' wave-
length, the inverse fourth power would be the largest
number and hence the greatest color in visible intensity.
Lilies owe their white color not to white pigments but
to the diffusion of light striking the very tiny colloidal
bubbles of air in the lily petals. Of course, when all
colored lights striking the lily petal are diffused thor-
oughly, they mix and form white light. The same
phenomenon is found in the case of white hair — no
white pigments are found— only colloidal bubbles of
air to so diffuse the light as to appear white. As to
this machine, the red light is purely accidental. I did
not design the machine to make red light. I used ruby
glass because I find the Roentgen rays do not penetrate
the glass as was heretofore believed. The light is a by-
product of the true purposeful action of the machine.
Observe, please.”

Dr. Moore took off the red cap of glass from the
machine, exposing the five anodes arranged in an arc,
each pointing toward a central point in the lower body
of the aluminum casing. Opposite each anode was a
beautifully coiled tungsten wire cathode from which
electrons were discharged at the anode. All these
anodes were so leveled and arranged that all the angles
of incidence in reflecting the bombardment of electrons
focused at one narrowing slit — a sort of rectangular
funnel pointing straight downward toward the quartz
plate at the bottom where the rod-like ray of cold light
was focused.

“When this five circuit X-ray machine operates, all
the reflecting anodes have their positions fixed to throw
all X-rays generated to this one point — the vortex of
the funnel-like piece of the casing. That metal looks
like aluminum but is really a lead alloy of that metal.
It is especially efficient in stopping Roentgen rays.
Please observe that I can control each of these five
circuits separately.”

“Professor ! "The cabinet !” Manoras cried in alarm.

A FULL ten minutes had passed since the four-
minute reducing period was to have ended. The
plates of alloy were removed carefully and, contrary to
the fears of the professor, they seemed to be perfect and
unharmed by the over-reduction. Strange it was in-
deed to handle this pile of nearly invisible foil. The
grey void of the anodes was seen again. There was the

clamp with a grey, dark-appearing mass, with an elu-
sive, shapeless appearance, between its jaws.

“We will proceed with our experiment,” said the
professor, placing the plates without the clamp in
the quartz box, leaving the open top with no cover. He
slid this into the X-ray machine immediately below the
funnel-like aperture and in the path of the rod-like
crystal light.

“Before I turn on the current to make the final test
of success or failure, I want to explain the real action
of this machine. Have you ever seen a band leader
or orchestra leader wave his baton where the light is
rather poor? If so, you have noticed that the baton
appears to stutter or vibrate through the light — a sort
of poor motion picture, where one sees the wand in one
place, then see.' nothing for a short space with a quick
reappearance beyond, and so on to produce a stuttered
appearance. This phenomenon is due to light inter-
ference. In places the light reflected by the baton is
interfered with and lost to the eye — a sort of “now you
see it, now you don’t” idea. I take advantage of this
in causing these Roentgen rays to interfere with each
other, making a sort of staggered but regular pulsation
of X-rays. Some of the rays generated never get to
their destination, but because of interference are used
up in producing this red glow and beam. The five
anodes enable me to control the speed of the interfer-
ence, thus getting any vibration I want, through inter-
ference from two to five separate rays. The pulsating
X-rays thus generated are sent through the funnel-like
apparatus, where all but the rays passing straight
through are absorbed into the walls. Thus, all rays
going through the slit-like opening will be parallel in
motion — no cross rays. In other words, I polarize the
pulsating X-rays. The cold light, or crystal light, is
this stream of polarized, pulsating X-rays. By throw-
ing this ray onto any solid or liquid matter, I can cau.se
the pulsation to synchronize with the natural period
of the vibrating molecule, and slowly but surely speed
up the motion and elongate the path of vibration until
the invisibility effect is noticed.”

So saying, the doctor switched on the current and
the crash of large spark gaps again filled the room.
Once more the room was suffused in a red glow and
the crystal light steadied to a rigid bar of blinding
brilliance. The three leaned forward toward the ma-
chine in close and excited observation of the plates of
alloy. No great change seemed to occur. Dr. Moore,
however, smiled and, motioning the boys away from
the machine, opened two switches on a local bank of
five on the machine’s neat brown switchboard. Im-
mediately the noise of spark gaps decreased and the
red shaft of light softened to a hazy beam; the glow
in the room faded to a pink sunset-light.

“I have cut off two of the circuits.” The professor
spoke loudly to be heard distinctly above the crackle of
the spark coils. “It was evident that the five were not
producing the correct pulsation to synchronize with
the natural period of vibration of the molecules of the
alloy or its platinum coating. We must blindly feel
for the correct interference effect with different num-
bers of circuits going at one time. A sort of trial and

178

AMAZING STORIES

error method. We are but babes in the field of higher
science, and so we do not see clearly what we are at-
tempting to do.”

The pile of plates was now undergoing a color change
— a sort of passing through the color spectrum from red
to violet. Gradually the color steadied to a clear violet.

“Dr. Moore, I believe we are observing a gradual
increase in the speed of those molecules of alloy which
takes us through the vibrations of colored light. The
red, being slower vibrations, we see that color first
and as the vibration speed increases we get the advance
along the spectrum in color to the rapid waves of violet
light. Why does the color remain at violet and not pass
on into the extremely rapid short waves of ultra-violet
light?”

At last Murphy was flushed with excitement over
what he had questioned but a short time ago. To him
it was obvious that the whole experiment was going to
be an unqualified success. Manoras spoke to the pro-
fessor before an answer came.

“Don’t you think that all that has occurred is a speed-
ing up of the particle motion? I doubt if the path of
motion has been elongated much ; in fact, I should
judge that the color change would indicate a shortening
of the path to suit the increase in speed. Perhaps the
only really necessary thing is to cause an extremely
rapid vibration, taking the particles up to the vibration
of ultra-violet or other invisible light at which point the
object would be invisible.”

S LOWLY the professor turned a large black lever
to the right. The sputtering gaps fairly jumped
off the machine in their activity. The noise increased
to a roar. No change occurred in the color of the
plates of alloy.

“Guess you are both right,” the professor shouted,
“Try turning on that number four circuit again please,
Jerry.”

As the fourth circuit sprang into action, the pile of
violet colored sheets seemed to fade into thin air.

“Holy Mother!” Manoras spoke as if in prayer.
“Professor, I congratulate you. I have never seen
anything so wonderful.”

The doctor was smiling through tears. His kindly
nature was overwhelmed by this success.

“Marvelous, Dr. Moore.“ Jerry was almost speech-
less with amazement.

“Now, my friends, we will apply the last test. If
we can make visil)le things invisible, we should be able
to make invisible things visible. If we can cause our
stream of Z-rays to pulsate in a manner to interfere
with the vibration of the molecules you no longer see
before you, we should be able to so hinder them that
they again slow down to a normal speed of visibility.”

Throwing the switch to the fifth circuit, the pro-
fessor turned back the black lever controlling the in-
tensity of the spark across the gaps. Slowly the violet
color appeared, trembled, and with a flash of light
the colors of the rainbow cascaded down the now
visible pile of alloy sheets. An intense heat radiated
from the stack of foil. Suddenly it flared brilliant
white, and the once rigid pile fused and slid to a

liquid in the bottom of the quartz dish standing there.

“Too much internal energy loosed all at once. We
will have to be more careful in stopping the very vio-
lent vibration we set up to cause invisibility. All that
energy released at once naturally comes away as heat
and light.” The professor reached for the quartz dish
in which the molten alloy ran about.

“Professor!” Murphy shrieked a hoarse warning,
but too late. Dr. Moore’s hand was already under the
rod of crystal light. A kaleidoscope of color, a cry of
anguish, and before a move could be made by either
of the boys, the professor had completely disappeared.

Carlos sobbed aloud. Murphy swore violently.
Both were wide-eyed and horror stricken.

“Dr. Moore! Are you here? Where are you?
Answer us !” Manoras was hysterical. “That damned
machine. Why, oh why, did it ever come to be! Never
will it harm another !”

Seizing a huge iron bar, he raised it high above his
head and brought it down with a terrific smash on the
glowing red bulb of the machine. A blinding ex-
plosion shook the room. Bottles fell from shelves,
furniture crashed into the walls — ^all was a turmoil.
The Z-ray machine literally melted to the floor, a fused
mass of wreckage.

“Carlos !” Dr. Moore’s voice, faint but sharp, cut
through the momentary silence that followed the de-
molishing of the machine. “Alas, lad, you have cut
off forever my hopes of returning to you Had you
not ruined the machine, you might have again brought
me to my natural state, as with the alloy sheets. By
careful and slow treatment you could have slowed the
motion of my molecules till they were again normal.
Now it is too late.”

“Professor! Where are you?” Murphy fairly
shrieked his question.

“Here, Jerry, among you. Yes, really among you,
for I find I can pass through your body without your
knowledge. I have discovered a great secret, but it
has cost me my human existence. My voice is failing.
Listen closely, for ere long I shall not be able to speak
in a voice you can hear.”

“Forgive me ! I was wild with rage at the machine
I thought destroyed you.”

“You are forgiven, Carlos. Now listen. When the
visible becomes invisible, it is dematerialized. I find
I have no feelings, no nerves. I have no material body.
My faculties are gradually passing to a higher plane
of vibration than those you possess ; they follow my
body. Soon my voice will be inaudible to you. Already
I see through walls, see through the earth, any material
thing. I move with no effort. I have no weight. My
will controls my motion. I feel no pain, no cold, no
heat. My hearing involves no sound — only a con-
sciousness of what you say. I cannot touch you. I
cannot hold or grasp the material things — they slip
through my grasp as air would through yours. Mine
alone is the secret of the machine which destroyed my
human habitat. It has been destroyed and only my
hand and brain could rebuild it. Since I am no longer
capable of physical action and my voice fades even
now, I can never again regain my human form. Mourn

THE INVISIBLE FINITE

179

me not. I am not dead, there is no death for me. Per-
haps I shall know you again — in — some — future — e — ”
The voice trailed into nothingness and the two young
men stared with set faces and tear filled eyes into a
void and space they could not fathom.

Have you ever felt that someone was present when

you knew you were alone ? It is the professor seeking,
searching, looking for some one who can understand
his sole means of communicating with us. Only through
our intelligences and minds can he reach us. What
wondrous tale has he of an existence beyond our ken?
Will we ever be able to learn more about it?

THE END

Hh»e-US SIGNS

In this department we shall discuss, every month, topics of interest to readers. The editors invite correspondence on all subjects
directly or indirectly related to the stories appearing in this magazine. In case a special personal answer is required, a nominal

fee of 2Sc to cover time and postage is required.

A VERY INTERESTING LETTER FROM ONE OF OUR AUTHORS

Editor, Amazing Stories:

The editorial, "An Amazing Phenomenon,” sug-
gested by my story, "The Fifth Dimension,” aroused
considerable interesting comment. I am reminded
of an article that I believe was entitled "Dizzy
Arithmetic,” that appeared in the Atlantic Monthly
about four years ago. However, I am not positive
in regard to either the title or the magazine. This
article advanced some such theory as the editor’s:
viz., that "in our own physical make-up will be
found the actual physical remains of some of our
predecessors.” The writer of the article went on
to prove mathematically, that each one of us con-
tains, for example, so many of the self-same mole-
cules that were in the body of Julius Caesar! The
arithmetical proof is what really made this article
fascinating reading, but unfortunately I cannot re-
produce if all from memory.

I am inclined to feel that the explanation given
in the February “Discussions” by David Miles is a
very good one; that the phenomenon of precogni-
tion “can be explained by lag in the perceptive
cpeed in one of the hemispheres of the brain.” This
is practically the same idea as that expressed by
Wm. S. Wensley in the same issue. It is not quite
as appealing to the imagination as the theory given
in the editorial; that we have in our bodies the
molecules of our predecessors, or as mine; that we
live in vast time-cycles that recur again and again,
but it does seem a logical explanation and appeals
to the reason.

In the March "Discussions” column, George
Lasky asks how in "The Miracle of the Lily” a
l)eetle appears after all were supposed to have
been destroyed. If you recall, my last chapter
was entitled “Ex Terrano,” which indicates “out of
the ground.” However, I did not really want this
point to be any too clear, for I merely wished
to convey an idea and preferred not to garb it
in too concrete language. The theme I wished
to be left with the reader was that, after all
man’s struggle to attain a definite objective (this
extermination of his insect foes), and just when
he has apparently reached* his goal, he discovers
that he has it all to do over again. I tried to
show in the story that mankind had deteriorated
since struggle was no longer necessary. The
beetle was the symbol of the work man bad yet
before him to do. Also I bated to think of the in-
habitants of the earth waging war against the
well-meaning insect inhal)itants of Venus simply be-
cause of the latter’s unfortunate physical form. If
insects appeared again on earth, men were likely
to stay at home fighting them and minding their
own business.

Mr. Lasky also asks about the pollenization of
the plants grown from the seeds found by Nathano.
This really wouldn’t be a serious problem to ac-
complish artificially in that advanced age, when it
can actually be accomplished on a small scale now.

I hope this satisfactorily explains the apparently

ambiguous conclusion of “The Miracle of the
Lily.” Personally, I d6 not like a story to be
too explicit. It is often desirable to have some-
thing left to the imagination.

A word about Dr. Breuer’s “The Captured
Cross-Section,” which I thought an excellent story
of the fourth dimension. That a three-dimensional
object would be a cross-section in a four-dimensional
world, furnished a very unique plot for this story.
The denouement in the story was cleverly handled,
One does not anticipate it as he can in so many
stories of scieutifiction. The author sees to it that
the reader has no inkling of the revelation until
he reaches the point in the story that has been
selected for that purpose.

I have wondered for some time if I was destined
to be the only “come-back” from your prize-story
contest of two years ago, but the last issue of
Amazing Stories has a very fine story by the win-
ner of the first prize. The science of archeology
lends itself very well to scientific fiction, especially
when handled in so interesting a manner.

Clare Winger Harris,

16301 Lakewood Hts. Blvd., Lakewood, Ohio.

(We have no comment to make on this most in-
teresting letter from Mrs. Harris. We can only
say that we are confident that our readers will en-
joy it as much as we have, but we believe that
none of them will enjoy it more. — Editor.)

SOME COMMENTS ON TWO STORIES BY
DR. DAVID H. KELLER— THE "QUARTERLY”
APPROVED OF

Editor, Amazing Stories:

Allow me to congratulate you upon the improved
appearance of your magazine with the April Num-
ber. It looks almost like a new magazine, I have
not had time to read all of it yet but I certainly
enjoyed "The Yeast Men.” I was very much
interested in Dr. Keller’s story, "The Revolt of
the Pedestrians,” which appeared some time ago.
I have been reading your magazine for almost a
year now and I believe that it is improving all
the time; let the good work go on!

The Quarterly was very good and I heartily
approve of the idea of the Quarterly instead of
the annual or semi-annual. I thoroughly enjoyed
every story in the Quarterly; I was especially
interested in “When the Sleeper Wakes” by Wells.
I am glad you p’int so .much of Wells’ works for
I find food for thought in every one of his scientific
works.

Allen Hensley,

109 Fourth Ave., Columbia, Missouri.

(We are glad to hear that you consider Amazing
Stories is on the road of advancement. For many
months, judging by their letters, our readers are
standing by us. We say we are willing to get
"brickbats” and will publish them. The truth is
that the "brickbats” which we receive are few

and far between and we certainly have published
some of the severest.

The great effort of the world for some years
is in the direction of doing away with walking.
People want to move over the ground on wheels,
with a slight variation of skis or skates in winter,
and now that we can keep our feet off the ground,
we see airplanes impending, which will carry us
through the air without any reference to poor old
Mother Earth. — Editor.)

SOME GENERAL BUT ACCEPTABLE
CRITICISMS
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have been reading Amazing Stories for sev-
eral months, having missed the first few issues.
I enjoy it very much. I have just finished High
School, so I am about the age where such stories
would naturally interest me. I am especially
interested in stories about physical phenomena and
about astronomy.

Most of your readers seem to find fault with
the stories of Jules ^’erne and H. G. Wells. .The
only thing I do not like about these two writers
is their tedious style.

Hicks" Inventions Wtih a Kick are all right. How-
ever, why not let poor Hicks invent something
which is a success?

In Ten Million MUes Sunward no doubt the
sudden moving of a . large enough body of water
would influence the rotation of the earth, by gyro-
scopic action, but I fail to see how it could affect
its position in relation to the sun.

The stories about Miinchhausen are well told, and
do not drag along. However, the Baron said that
the Ion neutralized the gravity of the water in
the Martian Canals. Then since the water was
without weight the rays easily forced it along the
canal. But this would only reduce the WEIGHT
and not the MASS of the water. Since mass is
the amount of resistance a body offers to being
moved, the onIy_ help the ion produced would be
to reduce friction, which is negligible anyway.
Also why wouldn’t centrifugal force make it fly
away?

The Quarterly fills the need for a more fre-
quent publication nicely. The illustrations are
good, but a few more wouldn’t hurt. May your
magazine be as good in the future as it has been
in the past.

Charles Wihe,
Dallas, Tex.

[We cannot agree with you in your statement
about the “tedious style” of Jules Verne and H. G.
Wells. Both of them are very successful in intro-
ducing atmosphere into their stories. Atmosphere
is what marks the perfect narration. Your criti-
cism of Baron Munchhausen’s theory of the water
in the Martian canals is a little bit severe. Sup-
pose we say that the Baron meant that the mass
of the water was annihilated. If the water was
without weight, would it not follow that it was
without mass? If gravity had no effect, would
not Its inertia also be dispelled? We thank you
for your good wishes and are trying to make the
magazine better. — EDITOR.)

{.Continued on page 182)

The Diabolical Drug

By Clare Winger Harris

{Continued from page 161)

gasp of amazement. In the entryway, with the street-
light shining grotesquely upon his hent figure, stood
an aged stranger.

“Are you the consulting physician to investigate Miss
Gordan’s case?” asked Mr. Gordan.

The elderly individual bent an interested glance upon
the man before him. Then he replied.

“I — that is — yes, I believe I have an excellent cure
for her condition. May I see her?”

“Certainly, this way, doctor.”

The strange physician followed Mr. and Mrs. Paul
Gordan to the room of their daughter. Upon the bed
lay the inert form of the unfortunate young woman
whose nerve impulses had been so retarded as to render
her a misfit among all the rest of humanity about her.
The aged doctor gazed at the still form intently.

“Not a day over thirty-two,” he thought to himself.

Aloud he said, “Her most rapid cure will be accom-
plished by injecting this serum which — ”

“But please, doctor!” pleaded the mother with a
detaining hand upon his arm, “I — I don’t like injected
serums. Can’t she — er — ^take it internally?”

“Unfortunately not, my good woman, but let me
assure you, it will effect a rapid cure.”

The mother surrendered and the old doctor injected
into the arm of his patient a drop of colorless liquid.
The effect was almost instantaneous. Ellen sat up
quickly and looked from one to another of the occu-
pants of the room.

“Mother, father!” she cried. “Has the world really
stopped tearing around at such a fearful rate? Ah, I
know it is I who am back to normal. I wonder if Edgar
is succeeding in catching up with me. My measles won’t
last long now I”

The old man turned to leave the room, but stopped

THE

at a question from the astonished father, Paul Gordan.

“To whom are we indebted for this restoration of
our daughter to normalcy?”

The piercing eyes of the stranger swept the faces of
all three.

“To Edgar Hamilton,” he replied quietly.

“Oh, he sent you, did he?” laughed Mr. Gordan.
“Probably the young rascal was afraid to deliver the
antidote in person after my somewhat plain letter this
morning.”

The aged man advanced a step with outstretched
trembling hands.

“You do not understand, Mr. Gordan. I am Edgar
Hamilton.”

“You — well this is rich!” Aside to his wife, “We
must humor the poor devil.”

“Joking set aside,” persisted the stranger, “I am
Edgar Hamilton, to whom you owe your late catas-
trophe and its more recent remedy.”

Then he proceeded to tell a tale of a spent lifetime,
a tale so fantastic that it fell upon incredulous ears.
It ended with a wild unearthly cry of, “Yangar, my
son, Yangar.” His shrieks grew louder until they
became the ravings of a mad man.

Nearly all who have seen him at the asylum and
heard his story believe him to be the victim of an
hallucination.

It is said that some months after Ellen Gordan’s
complete recovery from measles, she married a young
man by the name of Manly Hamilton, who claimed
kinship with the Edgar Hamilton, who had so mysteri-
ously disappeared. There remain those of their ac-
quaintance, who maintain that Ellen’s husband and
Edgar are one and the same man, but that does not
explain the aged inmate of the asylum.

END

READER’S VOTE OF PREFERENCE

Stories I like: Why:

Stories I do not like:

Why:

This is YOUR magazine. Only by knowing what stories you like, can we please you. Fill out this
coupon, or copy it and mail it to Amazing Stories, 230 Fifth Avenue, New York City, telling us what
type of story — interplanetary, biological, psychological, archeological or other kind — you prefer.

I prefer

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180

May, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

181

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AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

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MATTER; ITS RELATION^ TO ENERGY; THE

UNIT OF MEASUREMENT OF ENERGY

Editor, Amazing Stories:

If only to break the uninterrupted stream of
letters of praise, I feel that I must call attention
to some errors that have crept into your work.
The editorial in question is that printed in the
March issue, in which you may recall making the
following statement:

“The entire mass is actually disappearing pro-
gressively.” (Speaking of the sun.)

You then go on to explain that the energy is
liberated through the transmutation of the element
hydrogen into helium and helium into the other
elements of the atomic table.

Now, these two statements represent two entirely
different theories as to the origin of the sun’s
energy and should not be confused with each other.
If the first is accepted as true, then for each pound
of matter destroyed, one pound of energy is liber-
ated. If the second theory is true, then the re-
sult of the transmutation of one pound of hydro-
gen to helium would be the liberation of .008 pounds
of energy, the remaining .992 pounds being re-
tained as matter. Or, if it be inferred that you
are trying to sum up the results of the second by
the statement of the first, it is easily understood
that there is a mistake. Destruction of the “entire
mass” is obviously different from the partial de-
struction of matter by transmutation of the ele-
ments.

In another part of the same editorial you state:

“ — if the ashes, the smoke and the gases pro-
duced were all collected, they would weigh more
than did the original coal.”

As far as it goes, the statement is correct, but
in its present form it is likely to create a wrong
impression that matter is actually created in the
process of burning. The total weights of the vari-
ous resultants — ash, smoke, etc. — would weigh no
more and no less than the total weight of the coal
plus the oxygen. The law involved is the Law
of Conservation of Mass.

Again, in commenting upon a letter of discus-
sion, you state:

“ — Hellen Keller, who, though dumb, deaf, and
blind-—”

As I understand it, Helen Keller is not dumb.
On the contrary, she is a very excellent speaker
but unfortunately cannot hear or see her audience.

Your artist, in picturing the emergence of an
object from the 4th dimension, makes the mistake
of having the subject appear only half visible — and
semi-transparent at that. An object rotated from
the 3rd dimension into the 4th or the other way
around disappears immediately or re-appears im-
mediately after it has begun its motion. There is
no half way; it is either visible or invisible. The
story I refer to is the one aljout the Fourth Dimen-
sional operation that appeared some time ago.

In the story “Into the Green Prism,” the author
has the atoms made visible by this new type of
lens, enabling Ramon and his friends to watch
their individual motions! Now as electrons are
supposed to travel around their nucleus several
million times a second and the atoms and molecules
execute almost as great a rate of speed, a mechan-
ism for slowing up the action would be required
for a human eye to distinguish the individual atoms.
But the wonderful scientist applies heat and watches
them double their speed! Enough said.

James McCarthy,

2847 N. Hope St., Philadelphia, Pa.

(Your terminology is so confused, or even in-
accurate, that it deprives your letter of much of
its force. There is no such thing as a pound of
energy. Energy varies with the mass and with
the square of the velocity, po.sitive or implied, or
energy may also be expressed by the product of
weight by height in a gravitational field such as
that surrounding the earth. The coal is burned and
combines with the quantity of oxygen which forms
water with the combined hydrogen of the coal, car-
bon dioxide with its carbon and if the coal con-
tains iron pyrites, the iron and sulphur each take
up a quantity of oxygen.

If you had heard Helen Keller speak, as the
writer has, at a public exhibition, you would have
found that she is virtually dumb; the speaking ap-
pears to be a purely mechanical affair and very
indistinct. While it is an amazing display of pa-
tience and intellect on the part of Miss Keller,
and of her very interesting associate, we would cer-
tainly pronounce her dumb.

As regards the change of an object of one di-
mension to another, our artist, unfortunately, never
saw an object move from the third to the fourth
dimension. We suppose you did not see it either.
We thought, and believe most of our readers
thought, that Mr. Verrill’s story about the Green
Prism was quite good. — Editor.)

Please say

you saw it

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STORIES

AMAZING STORIES

183

May, 1929

THE PROBLEM OF A NAME FOR OUR
MAGAZINE; THE SHADOW AND TWO
DIMENSIONS; INERTIA

Editor, Amazikg Stories:

Tlie other day I entered a jewelry store to make
some trivial purchase. In a tray o£ finger rings on
the show case was one that was set with a perfect
diamond solitaire, whose scintillating beauty put it
apart from all the others, making such a display of
gorgeous, sparkling colors that I must needs in-
vestigate. Now, I knew nothing about diamonds
nor of what they were composed, therefore I was
extremely surprised and disappointed to find at-
tached to the ring a tag on which was written
“Carbon Rock.” A rock! A mere carbon deposit!
The name immediately destroyed my interest, so
I did not stop to notice the truly marvelous, sub-
dued lights glowing in the depths of the stone.

A few moments later, as I was about to pass a
newsstand, a particularly colorful magazine cover
caught my eye. I knew less about this magazine
than I did about diamonds, and was again sharply
disappointed to see blazoned in shrieking letters
across the top. Amazing Stories. The name fairly
reeked of trash, sensationalism; and dropping the
magazine, I continued on my way without stopping
to notice that the remarkably well executed illus-
tration with its wealth of scientific detail had no
place on such a class of magazine as the name im-
plied. In each case a flashing brilliancy had caught
my eye and aroused curibsity, but the names had
placed each article on such a cheap basis that it
killed all interest, before I could investigate fur-
ther. How different it would have been if some
more conservative title had appeared! Some name
to change idle curiosity to lively interest. A
stranger to the name would perhaps wonder just
what it meant, but almost before the thought could
form, he would buy it. Even more interesting!
Next his attention would turn more closely to the
illustration, Paul’s remarkable work would do the
rest, and you have another fan.

Why must we call a diamond a rock? Just be-
cause you started with this handicap, must you keep
it throughout the many coming years that your mar-
velous magazine must surely be with us? It is a
certainty that changing the name will not cause
any loss of steady readers, and it is an equal cer-
tainty that it would attract Uew ones. Even the
few who wish to leave the magazine as is, seem to
express only passive feeling, while you well know
how vehement those are who favor the change. In
the past few months two newsdealers advised that
it would be to your advantage to change the name,
and if they don’t know, who does ? You cannot
change the name while the magazine is any younger,
so let’s change now.

In “Discussions” in the November issue, the edi-
tor promised to let the readers know the sales re-
sults of the September issue, which was adorned
with the comparatively conservative scientifiction
emblem. This was to take almut three months
from August 6, but I have received all copies since
then, up to and including March, with no mention
of the results. Did sales actually decrease to any
appreciable extent ?

I would suggest that you investigate the reprint
possibilities of “The Moon Maid” by E. R. Bur-
roughs, which appeared several years ago in “Ar-
gosy, All-Story Magazine.” To the best of my
knowledge it has never appeared in book form. It
is an unusual story, and, of course, is written in
that incomparable Burroughs style. 'Nuf said.’

One of your correspondents complains because
your stories recognize no impossibilities. Whatever
you do, don’t listen to him. If he desires ordinary
stories, there are hundreds of magazines to sup-
ply them, while there is but one like yours, and
yours is the one. Besides, who can be so far
al>ove a mere human as to separate the possible
from the impossible?

Incidentally, at various times in ‘‘Discussions,”
you have expressed the opinion that interplanetary
travel is not to be seriously considered, that it
borders on the so-called “impossible,” or words to
that effect. Please don’t express such ideas, even
though I know that learned men consider inter-
planetary travel very, very remote from the pres-
ent. But equally learned men assured the Wright
brothers that they would never fly until they had
confined a horsepower in the space of a watch
case.

A shadow has been mentioned in “Discussions”
as being a two-dimensional object, but I cannot
see how this is correct. Suppose we have a box
(or any other object) where it will cast a shadow.
True, the visible shadow on the ground has only
two dimensions, length and width; but if another
object be interposed between the box and its shadow,
it will be observed that this object is within the
shadow cast by the box. Therefore, the shadow has
a third dimension, depth; the depth being from any
point on the visible shadow to the corresponding

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point on the object casting the shadow. If this is
incorrect, will you explain how and where?

There is another thing that has me muddled up.
Can an object have inertia without having weight?
If a one pound object be moving at the same
speed as a ten pound object, then the ten pound
object will strike anything in its path with ten
times the force of ^e one pound object. This
would make it appear that inertia is synonymous
with weight. But if that is true, a meteorite strik-
ing a space ship in space would simply stop, doing
no damage, because there would be no force of
inertia to overcome.

I hope to see Amazing Stories bigger, better and
oftener in the future; with more tales of the
future, of interplanetary travel, of other worlds and
their inhabitants. The oftener it is published, the
better, as long as the high standard of the stories
is maintained. Both the Monthly and the Quar-
terly do not furnish a tenth of the scientific stories
that it would take to satisfy me.

Oral Arnel,
Cedarville, Calif.

(We wonder if our correspondent in a very pic-
turesque description of the diamond implies that
we are one. He was affected by the fact that any-
thing so beautiful as a diamond was a mere carbon
deposit. Now suppose that he takes it the other
way, and disliking the name of our magazine, finds
that it is full of real diamonds. We can refer
you to another letter where the idea of changing
the name of Amazing Stories is heartily rejected.
As regards the effect of the plain cover on the cir-
culation of the magazine, we refer you to the April
issue, page 80, at the beginning of the “Discus-
sions” column. There the effect is told. Impossi-
bilities will always appear in such stories as we
publish, and as we maintain, many such impossibili-
ties may become realities in time. Even if we do
believe this, some of them are impossibilities forever.
It was the late Simon Newcomb, at that time the
leading astronomer of the United States, who said
that it was absolutely impossible for man to fly.
He didn’t live long enough to know Lindbergh, not
to say the Wright Brothers. As regards the shadow
being two dimensional, the reference is to the
shadow you see on the flat surface, not to the
space between it and the original object. Inertia
does vary with mass and the term weight which
you use, means mass acted on by gravity, but
inertia is not synonymous with either weight or
mass but varies with the velocity squared.— Editor.)

A LETTER ABOUT THE “SKYLARK OP
SPACE’*

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I second the motion of Mr. Bradford that you
ask Messrs. Smith and Garby to give you a con-
tinuation of the “Skylark of Space” with more
data on “Osnome.”

“Osnome” interests me particularly since the
conception of an inhabited planet without sodium
chloride leads to speculation. On earth, vegetable
life does not need salt. Any analysis of the ash
of a land plant showing either chlorin or sodium
raises in my mind a prima facie query as to its
accuracy. But with animals (the vertebrates, any-
how) the blood is basically a solution of common
salt, which is why Mrs. Deer in Montana or Mr.
Darkey in Central America will dare anything for
salt. That the Osnomians might use copper in their
biological and metabolic processes is conceivable
enough. Terrestrial animals sometimes do. But
it is as a substitute for iron; not for sodium chlo-
ride.

All in all, Mr. Smith’s chemistry interests me,
albeit I might say that the quantitative recovery
of NaCi used as a flux at a white heat or there-
abouts isn’t quite clear to a laboratory man. NaCl
is too volatile; isn’t much of a flux and is too sub-
ject to metathetic reactions.

Personally, I should like to hear more of the
“Skylark,” of “Osnome” and of Mr. Smith’s ideas.
The “Sl^lark” is a real story. It set me guess-
ing.

K. M. McElroy,

724 Ninth St., N. W.,
Washington, D. C.

(Remember that our correspondents, for the most
part, write us very favorable letters and as you
have often noticed, we publish many which are
scathing, but Amazing Stories goes on. It is
rarely that we get so interesting a letter as the
one above from one who is himself a chemist.
Salt is a curious factor in animal life as it has
very specific effects on the body. It influences blood
pressure, and yet it goes through the system, un-
changed and unabsorbed. One is tempted to believe
that its action might be influenced by hydrolysis,
but this is a very far-fetched conjecture. — Editor.)

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May, I92q

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STORIES

AMAZING STORIES

185

May, 1929

COLDNESS IN EMPTY INTERSTELLAR
SPACE

Editor, Amazing Stories:

Your magazine has furnished me with a few
hours of enjoyment and has proved itself to be in*
structive and entertaining.

Naturally, your writers have to draw heavily on
their imagination, and many of their statements
are open to question. Here is one point I would
appreciate having your opinion on.

We read a lot about the “coldness” of inter-
stellar space, the cover picture of one of your re-
cent issues, for instance, showed us space navigators
securely clad in heavy furs. Is there any logic in
that? If I feel cold here in my own room, it is
because the chair I may sit on, the desk, the air
around me, are cold. Just what would be cold in
space beyond the earthly atmosphere? This space
is assumed to be empty, so there would be nothing
to be cold. Explanations are in order.

We feel cold because of excessive loss of bodily
warmth. The loss may occur in any or all of three
ways; radiation, convection and conduction. Heat
is radiated through space by what is assumed to
be motion or vibration of the ether, which is as-
sumed to pervade all space. The amount of heat
lost in this manner depends on the nature of the
radiating substance — its thermal capacity, its ther-
mal condition, its color. It does not depend, I be-
lieve, on the nature of its (gaseous) surrounding.
The loss by radiation away from earth should, there-
fore, not be more than on its surface.

Loss by conduction and convection depend on a
surrounding body, which we assume to be absent
in interstellar space. Consequently, as our body
depends on a certain amount of heat-loss to main-
tain an equilibrium, it would seem that if we
should travel away from earth, we would have to
think of means to guard ourselves from too much
beat, rather than too much cold.

Han a. Kunitz,
Stratford, Conn.

(Your view of coldness in empty interstellar
space is very interesting. Heat is radiated in a
vacuum and is lost by the radiating body. Radiant
heat is wave motion of the ether theoretically, and
the vacuum of interstellar space is supposed to be
full of ether. Of course, a body in interstellar
space in sunlight would receive heat and perhaps
would not fall in temperature. Your treatment of
interstellar space suggests a thermos bottle or a
Dewar flask. — Editor.)

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A BRICKBAT FOR “CAUPHUL”

Editor, Amazing Stories:

The magazines of your firm have always found
a welcome place on ray reading table — Amazing
Stories in particular. In Science and Invention,
Radio News and several other of your publica-
tions, I have read from time to time some highly
fanciful “Scientifiction.” Being broad-minded in
regard to the future of science, I have said Aye
to more than one hair-brained “futuristic” story,
but now I’ll balk for the first time in years.

In the January issue of Amazing Stories you
printed (you ought to apologize) a literary effort
by a Mr. Watson, entitled “Cauphul, the City Un-
der the Sea.”

This story ran along smoothly up to a certain
point and then the whole issue went sailing into the
waste-basket.

Tell me — where does Mr. Watson obtain such
puerile, crack-brained ideas such as transferring
muscular pains of human beings by electricity into
grey squirrels? I found some such stuff in his
story and it seemed to be sort of “thin.” Why not
cut the wires and allow the pains to “spark” off
into space in place of wasting a perfectly good
squirrel.

I am sure that your competent staff of scientists,
which you maintain for the purpose of approving
these stories, must have missed this particular
odium, so I’ll turn this brick into a rose and hope
for the continued success of Amazing Stories.

Robert M. Gerfin,
State College, Penna.

A WREATH FOR “CAUPHUL” FROM A HIGH
SCHOOL TEACHER
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I am going to the High School here in Los
Angeles, and some time ago our English teacher
asked us what magazines we were reading in our
spare time. I told her that I was reading Amazing
Stories.

I took down in school with me the January issue
of the same for my teacher to see. She was very
favorable to the magazine and approved it for us
boys and girls to read, referring to the stories
that she especially liked, namely, “Cauphul, the
City Under the Sea” and “Absolute Zero.”

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186

AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

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you saw it in AMAZING

She said that she had read some Atlantis stories
and that the information given in the story “Cau-
phul, the City Under the Sea” was correct.

She also said that she hoped that this gentleman,
Mr. Watson, would write some more stories for you
and that she would be sure to read them.

Erika Fried,
2143 Duane St.,
Los Angeles, Calif.

(It is not often that we "get so severe a letter
as the first letter, but the curious point about it is
that the second letter contains a criticism from
a high school teacher, taking on quite a different
tone.

The second letter is from a high school student
who submitted the magazine to her teacher, who said
that she especially liked “Cauphul,” the very
story which our previous correspondent has so
vigorously abused. Mr. Watson will be very glad
to hear the appreciation of his work. Although our
first correspondent started with a very vigorously
propelled brickbat, he did, like a professional magi-
cian, turn it into a rose before it hit us. — Editor.)

A LETTER FROM A BLIND READER
Editor, Amazing Stories:

I cannot truthfully say that I am a reader of
Amazing Stories because 1 cannot read at all,
that is, ordinary printing, as I am blind, but my
mother always reads the stories to me. Not only
the stories, but all your editorials and your cor-
respondence column, and 1 must say that of all
the stories that have been read to me since I lost
my sight “over there” years ago, I have enjoyed
none so much as those from your magazine. I al-
ways look forward to next month’s edition and am
impatient for Dad to finish with it first, so that
mother can read it to me. We have only been
regular readers for about six or seven months, but
I wish that it had been from the first month that
your magazine was published. Judging from the
criticisms of your correspondents, 1 have missed
some really good yarns, and I only wish that there
was some way of getting every magazine I have
missed. I take such an interest in them because
I was of a bit of a scientific turn of mind myself
before my eyes went bad, but alas all that is no
good to me now, as the doctors say, and I have
had plenty of them, Ilarly Street specialists in-
cluded, that there is no hope of my sight return-
ing. But I am going to try and write a yarn on
the lines of a little idea which I had in my head
before going into the hospital, and which I have
all worked out in my mind. The idea works all
right, theoretically, but I cannot judge how it would
work practically. However, if I can put it into
story form, perhaps some reader could get to work
on it, and perfect it. The yarns I like best are
those on interplanetary travel, and I think that the
“Skylark of Space” is one of the best stories I have
ever heard or read. There is one part in that
story which I think far-fetched and that is the
“Mastery of Mind over Matter.” Of course, that
is only my opinion. Others Say, and most probably
too, think otherwise. I do not care too much for
Wells, not the science part of bis stories, but his
style, but that is another point where others differ
from me. Still it is absolutely impossible to please
everyone and I don’t discredit your magazine be-
cause one or two stories do not suit me. It is
the best ever, and long may it reign. Could you
give me particulars regarding the “Science Club,”
and whether I would be eligible to join? Although
I am blind, I might still be able to give some
theoretical advice.

Could you please tell me how much it would
cost in English coinage to have the magazine and
the Quarterlies sent to me regularly?

Well, I will have to close now. I hope you can
read this scrawl, because I can’t. I am writing
it in a specially prepared frame made for the
use of the blind. The cause of my loss of sight
is the after effects of a few years’ rough and tumble
in Flanders during the scrimmage of 1916-1918.

Jack Hart,

3 International Arcade,
West Street, Durban, Natal.

(There are few more admirable traits than cheer-
fulness in adversity and certainly blindness is an ad-
versity. Cheerfulness under such circumstances pro-
duces the most admirable example of efficiency in
that our South African writes a most interesting let-
ter, All the editors can say is that they give great
care to the selection of the stories and the letters we
receive from our correspondents, of which only
a few are published in the discussion columns, show
that we have a good degree of success in pleasing
our readers and that is what we are here for. The
letter we have received is written by a correspond-
ent who is blind from the effects of war and no
one would ever dream that the writer did not have
his sight. The information you ask for will be
{ forwarded by our Subscription Department.)

STORIES

AMAZING STORIES

187

May, 1929

A LADY READER PRAISES OUR COVERS
Editor, Amazing Stories;

I have never before tried to break into your
“Discussions" circle, having nothing to say except
in unqualified praise of your magazine, and 1
thought you had all of that you needed. But,
really, 1 must disagree with Mrs. L. Silberberg
and Ray Palmer about the cover of my favorite
magazine. I am never ashamed to be seen either
buying or reading it — in fact, I display it oa
every occasion possible. I, for one, have never
enjoyed being one of the crowd, but prefer to do
my own thinking, and when I see another person
reading Amazing Stories I know that there is
one who, like myself, has dared to break away
from the so-called “popular" type of fiction and
read stories that are full of excitement, daring
adventure and in many instances, prophecy.

Instead 6f feeling sheepish, as does Mrs. Silber*
berg, I feel that it stamps one with individuality to
be seen carrying Amazing Stories. An unintelli-
gent person might not be interested in the type of
stories printed in it. And persons who judge a
magazine solely by the cover, without a glance
at the contents, shouldn’t be considered anyway.

I, too, from my eai^liest years have been
interested in stories that were "different." I
know very little science, but have a great interest
in it. I am especially fond of stories of inter-
planetary travel, and consider "The Skylark of
Space," which I have just finished, a masterpiece
of its kind, and exceedingly well written.

Merritt’s "Moon Pool" was great. I whooped
with joy, right on the street, when I saw that
you were reprinting it in your magazine, and I
am sure "The Ship of Ishtar" would prove as
popular.

I have been a reader of Amazing Stories since
almost the first issue, and I WAS ATTRACTED
TO IT BY THE COVERI Have never missed
one since the first one I read, and have enjoyed
the Quarterlies and Annuals very much. Hope
I never have to miss one. In fact, if reduced to
choosing between meals and Amazing Stories I
would forego the meals — and I may add, I enjoy
eating.

Let the Mrs. Silverbergs and Ray Palmers tear
the covers off their copies if they wish, but please
don’t tone Mr. Paul down one bit.

(Mrs.) H. Snyder,
Lake Wales, Fla.

(We wonder what those of our readers who
object to our covers will say to this letter. We
certainly admire much in the “Moon Pool,” some of
the character drawings and references to the old
Celtic legends were very impressive. Mr. Merritt
showed in it a limitless extent of imagination that
did not obliterate the character drawing, which
really approximated a really scientific presentation.
—Editor.)

OUR COVER ONCE MORE; THIS TIME IT
IS DEFENDED
Editor, Amazing Stories:

The Amazing Stories cover seems to be a con-
stant topic in the "Discussion” column. The let-
ters point to it as probably the biggest fault of
the magazine.

In the December issue, a letter from Melvin
Brady is printed. He tells of an incident where a
man was looking over a magazine-rack, in a drug
store where he works, and "was attracted by the
‘scaring’ yellow background of your magazine.”
He further states that he approached the man, in
search of a sale, and attempted to describe the
magazine, its stories, discussion, etc. Mr. ' Brady
was called to the soda fountain and shortly after
he saw the man look at the cover, replace the book
and walk out.

Therefore he places the blame on the "scaring
yellow background of your magazine.”

As you are probably realizing, if you have read
this far, I do not agree with Mr. Brady. I have
been a constant reader of both Amazing Stories
and Amazing Stories Quarterly ever since the
June issue when I was attracted to the cover by
the picture illustrating the "Blue Dimension.”

The issue that Mr. Brady cites as an illustration,
is I believe, that of August 1928. The cover shows
a man flying through space. For curiosity’s sake,
anyone would pick up that magazine, and that is
just what “his man” did. But after Mr. Brady
explained and described the magazine, the man
realized that it was of the type he was not in-
terested in.

The same is shown when I say that I will not
purchase a magazine when the cover shows a pic-
ture of a cowboy or a western scene, because I do
not like western stories.

Possibly Mr. Brady noticed in the December
issue on page 8S5, opposite his letter, a picture of

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a new magazine "Aero Mechanics.” That in colors
would be what I’d call ioud, but I’ll wager, though
we have no piano to eat a comer off, that that
magazine sold plenty among airplane lovers.

That in my opinion does the same as the cover
o£ Amazing Stoiues.

‘ Alfred Beach,

3586 E. I29th St., Qeveland, Ohio.

(This letter speaks so well for itself that not
only is no comment needed, but it is hard to say
anything to make it clearer. We might count it
one of our troubles that we receive such contrary
opinions about our cover page illustration. We
know that they do illustrate the stories excellently,
that the scientific features of the illustrations are
extremely good, such as apparatus, etc., so wc
naturally feel that they are doing good work.—
Editor.)

VIEW OF A YOTJNG READER AKD CRITIC

Editor, Amazing Stories:

With the exception of a copy or two, I have read
Amazing Stories since its birth. As for Science
AND Invention, I have read it for five years. I
have learned a great deal from your educational
magazines and I would like to make a few remarks.

I am one of your younger readers, about fifteen,
and I am a freshman in high school.

Now to air my opinions on different subjects.

_ Why? Oh why, did you have to tack the glaring
title Amazing Stories on such a magazine? To
anyone not familiar with your stories, the sug-
gestion is that of several pages packed full of
lurid thrillers of the cheaper kind. It seems to me
that “Scientifiction” or some similar title would
have been much more appropriate.

As for "Fourth Dimensional Surgery,” 1 fail
to see how the forceps could pass through third
dimensional matter and extract another type of
third dimensional matter. The gall stones would
have to be in the fourth dimension also to be with-
drawn. Furthermore, how could the stones be
removed while the whole body was in the fourth
dimension? If be could put bis band into his
body, how could he grasp the atones? I hope I
have made myself clear and would appreciate cor-
rection if I am wrong.

What’s the matter with Mr. Fosdick and Mr.
Hicks and your other funny and humorous stories?
It may be crude comedy and all that but I like it if
it’s not overdone. You have heard that, "A little
nonsense now and then is relished by the best of
men.” Isn’t real life serious enough without piling
on a lot of fictional sadness and gloom?

To put in my oar about H. G. Wells, I think
his short stories are good, but bis longer ones
become tiresome in places on account of too much
detail and social problems.

"Baron Munchbausen’s Scientific Adventures”
suit me all right.

Please tell Mr. Merritt to tame his stories down
a bit. I always need a hair-cut after reading one
of bis flights of imagination— I am still reading
them though.

In the story "The Yeast Men,” it seems to
me that the dough would be more in the shape of
a ball than in the shape of men, but it made the
story more interesting to have men I suppose.

The characters in "Robur the Conqueror” seem
to me to be half-baked, especially Uncle Prudent
and Frycollin. By the way, isn’t most of Jules
Verne’s "extravagant fiction” cold fact by now?
Why not leave out Verne’s “cold fact” stories?

I realize of course that you are not publishing
your magazine for my especial benefit so I won’t
expect your next copy to have all my suggested
alterations. Nevertheless I have my opinions and
ideas (if you would call them that) off my chest.
You have asked for them so you get them.

P.S. I think your artist, Paul, is all right.
Do those who pan him for having one eyebrow
longer than the other, never make a mistake, or
what?

Dale Johnson,
Aberlin, Kans.

(If you would look over the records, you would
find that Amazing Stories was about the best
title submitted, and as an additional experiment,
see how difficult it is to evolve a thoroughly good
name.

You must not take stories about the fourth di-
mension too literally. We never knew before that
Mr. Merritt was a developer of business for bar-
bers, but we will admit cheerfully that his imagina-
tion takes wonderful flights — and we are not
ashamed to say, quite beyond the scope of the
imaginations of roost of us. We are very glad to
get your suggestions, however, and are glad that
you like Mr. Paul’s work. He is pretty well iden-
tified with our magazine and is certainly a favorite
with very many of our readers. — Editor.)

Read . . .

mad

^iBYention

THE BOOK WITH
THE MODERN
TREND OF
SCIENCE

■■ -^ >g i

Partial Contents

May Issue
Just Out

—

The Origin of Man, by Dr. Ales
Hrdlicka, U. S. National Museum,
Washington, D. C. This compre-
hensive and authoritative article on
the evolution of man has been -wpt-
ten exclusively for SCIENCE AND
INVENTION Magazine, by one of
the world’s greatest experts on the
study of man, Dr. Hrdlicka. The
article is specially illustrated with
pictures which show the evolution-
ary rise of man from the earliest
protoplasmic stage up to the pres-
ent day.

Man-Carrying Gliders — How to
Fly Them, by Augustus Post. One
of the foremost aeronautical authori-
ties tells the story of gliders and
the science behind the flying of^
them.

'‘Tomorrow’— What? How a fa-
mous New York theatrical produc-
tion, having many spectacular scenes
of life tomorrow, was cleverly
staged. Illustrated with special
artist’s drawings showing how elab-
orate scenery was moved, etc.

Einstein Theory! Today, every-
one wants to or should know some-
thing about the Einstein theory and
what it is all about. In the May
number of SCIENCE AND IN-
VENTION Magazine you will find
a specially interesting illustrated
popular discussion of the theories
formulated by Dr. Einstein.

All the usual extremely valuable
departments will appear of course:
Home Movies, How To Make It,
Magic, Motor Hints, Television,
Radio, Latest Patents, Scientific
Humor — and others.

Experimenter Publishing Co., Inc.

230 Fifth Ave., New York City, N. Y.
Gentlemen:

Enclosed find 25c, for which please send
me a copy of Science and Invention.

Name

Address

City State.

Please say you saw it in AMAZING

STORIES

May, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

189

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CIGARETTE CASE

A YOUNG STUDENT READER
AMAZINGLY DESCRIBED

Editor, Amazing Stories:

Just a note to tell you how anxiously your maga-
zine is awaited.

My son is fourteen and of a mechanical and
inventive mind. He haunts the drug store for
several days when it is time for your magazine
Amazing Stories to arrive. He reads it from
cover to cover and understands it perfectly.

The first one 1 saw I thought was rather a
freak magazine, but several times I have heard him
talk with men on subjects that were out of ray
reach. I had scarcely ever heard of them and
I now feel that it is a most wonderful educational
and interesting magazine.

He just reads by the hour and never leaves a
word unread, and besides keeping him out of mis-
chief, I feel that he is acquiring an education at
the same time.

He likes the few illustrations, but says it is the
only magazine that has so much reading and that
is the best part of it and he hopes you won’t change
it.

He helps with dishes or begs for any housework
in order to get money to buy it.

Right now he has finished your August maga-
zine and has just talked me out of fifty cents
for the new Quarterly. So I am sure you have
a very loyal booster in Billie.

Will you please send him the story?

Mrs. W. R. Steele,
(.Please send address)

[We are very much interested in what you tell
us about your son. So many of the younger gen-
eration have taken to our magazine and have
written to us words of true encouragement, that
we are glad to add your son’s criticism, if we may
term it so, to the rest. He will appreciate it
all the more because of the work he has to do
to get the money to pay for it. We congratulate
you on your idea of educating the young. We are
glad to have Billie for a loyal booster. — Editor.]

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A NICE LETTER FROM A GIRL READER
AND FRIEND
Editor, Amazing Stories:

You always seem glad to get letters of comment
on Amazing Stories from girls, so here goes.
I’m just another girl who is interested in scienti-
fiction. 1 have no claim to being a scientist, or a
literary critic, but I certainly like Amazing
Stories.

From the time I was a little girl about five
years old (I’m nineteen now) when my father told
me that the stars were not Httle five-pointed things
about the size of my band, but big, round worlds,
most of them bigger than our world, I have been
immensely interested in the stars.

The first time I ever read Amazing Stories was
when I read “Station X.” It was exactly what
something inside me had been craving for a long
time, and I never read a story that simply held
me tense as that one did. I shall never forget it.
Lots of other stories since then have been very
good, but that was the first and the best amazing
story I ever read.

One letter in the “Discussions” column said to
leave out the “love stories.” The man who wrote
that must be a bachelor, or else one of those “cold,
machtne-Iike scientists” we read about, and I can’t
agree with him. Of course, no one wants a lot
of “soft soap” in stories of this kind, but a little
romance mixed in, properly proportioned, makes
the story more human. Not all great scientists
are bachelors, you know, and therefore must have
had a little romance in their lives, so why not
make the stories more real?

As to the cover designs, I like them myself, but
as another reader says, they are so brilliant they
make me feel like a walking bookworm, a fanatical
one at that, whenever 1 carry it on the car or on
the street. I’m not ashamed of the fact that I
read Amazing Stories, however. As I told a
friend of mine who made fun of me for reading
“such trash,” they make your brain work, and
anyone who doesn’t like them either hasn’t the
brains or enough ambition to understand them. Not
that all the stories are the special kind I like, but
everyone is entitled to an opinion, and I don’t
mind having to skip one I don’t like once in a
while.

With best wishes for lots more amazing stories
(You can put the accent on either the word “more”
or the word “amazing),

Alice K. Grout,
627 Juliana St.,
Parkersburg, W. Va.

(We certainly arc always glad to get letters of
comment on our stories from girls, so we have
ventured to call you not only a girl reader, but
a girl friend. Your views on the question of love
as a motive in stories we thoroughly agree with.

Please say you saw if in AMAZING

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STORIES

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AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

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We would be very sorry to see it ostracized; and
think how many of the literary monuments of the
world are built up on love. Almost every great
novel is a love story. Dante, who often appears
a sombre writer, but whose epic the Divina Come-
dia, carries the thread of love all through it, and
whose Vita Nuova is all about his love for Bea-
trice, vindicates love as a theme in fiction. “Sta*
tion X," to which you allude, has won many fa-
vorable criticisms from our readers — perhaps, on
the average, more than most stories. We certainly
feel that it holds the reader’s attention to the end.
— Editor.)

A CORRESPONDENT WHO WANTS
REPRINTS

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I’ve long intended to add one more voice to the
chorus of cheers for Amazing Stories. In the
meantime, I have done my bit toward enabling
you to make Amazing Stories “bigger and bet-
ter” — I can conservatively credit myself with
twenty-five converts to the ranks of your admirers.
Just give the ordinary man one old issue, and he
becomes a steady customer. If some of those who
want more for their quarter would help swell the
ranks this way, it would be more to the point,
instead of their complaints about the choice of
stories.

Of all the stories you ever published, I prefer
the “Moon Pool,” by A Merritt. I read it eleven
years ago in the “All-Story Weekly,” but it was
that much the better for the second reading. By
the way, like Mr. Graham, of Australia, I would
very much enjoy reading again the “Blind Spot” —
I can assure him that if he only read the first
instalment, he missed “plenty!” But most of all,
I should like to see the series of stories from the
same publication (All-Story Weekly) containing: —
“Palos of the Dog Star Pack,” “The Mouth-piece
of Zitu,” and “Jason, Son of Jason.” These three
are the best “interplanetary travel” stories ever
published, even including Edgar Rice Burroughs,
who is hard to beat.

In conclusion, let me state that I have enjoyed
every issue (practically every story) since the first
number of Amazing Stories, and expect to see a
great number of the “impossibly weird ideas” be-
come “everyday commonplaces.” (I am only twenty-
three.)

W. J. Walsmith,
New Albany, Ind.

(This letter speaks for itself and it is so com-
mendatory of our humble efforts that we are almost
ashamed to publish it. We are glad to see you
among the admirers of stories which we are per-
sonally impressed by.

With regards to your concluding paragraph, you
have many years ahead of you and in time prob-
ably will see startling changes. For older people
of this generation, it is amazing to look back to
what has happened in the world of science since
1876 when the telephone was nothing but an in-
teresting scientific novelty. — Editor.)

AN AMUSING LETTER ABOUT H. G. WELLS

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have been reading Amazing Stories for a
year and a half. On the average, I like your
stories very well, but once in a while one comes
along that is terrible. I have just finished reading
your Winter Quarterly for 1928. I liked most
of the stories very well, but I don’t understand
how H. G. Wells could have written such a story as
“When the Sleeper Wakes.” It seems to me that
the tale is a curious mixture of conditions exist-
ing fifteen years ago, and — say — seventy-five years
from now. We had better airplanes, of the small
type he depicts, fifteen years ago than those he
describes. We have far better air-liners now than
those in the story. The little motors sound almost
obsolete, except for the fuel, and there’s no telling
what that is! The city itself is more plausible,
though I have read far better descriptions of the
future city, as far as conforming with my own
imagination is concerned.

Why didn’t Wells end the story by the fellow
waking up in Isbister’s house the next morning
and finding that he had dreamed all that nonsense?
Or by coming out of the crash alive and marrying
that girl ?

Maybe I have it in for II. G. Wells, any way,
because when a senior in High School I had to
write a long paper on his life and works! I have
never had any use for him since!

O. C. Talbert.

Rice Institute, Houston, Tex.

(We publish this letter to show that we appre-
ciate severe criticism. We have only this to say
about the city which you say is more plausible;
and that is, no two people would construct the
city of the future alike, if both depended upon
their imaginations. — Editor.)

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Date....

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STORIES

May, 1929

AMAZING STORIES

191

OPPORTUNITY AD-LETS

This column will appear monthly in Amazing Stories

Rate — Eight cents a word. Cash should accompany all advertisements
unless placed by an accredited advertising agency. Advertisements
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AGENTS WANTED

A NEW ENDING FOR A WELLS STORY

Editor , Amazing Stories:

I wish to submit a few comments on your story
When the Sleeper Wakes, by H. G. Wells.

It was indeed a wonderful piece of fiction, good
until the very end. But the ending was really a
disatmointment, as far as I’m concerned.

VVny couldn’t ^ Mr. Wells continue his story
something like this:

“He was beaten but London was safe. But was
he beaten ? Even as he thought that he would
soon go to his final sleep, and there meet bis old
comrades, the Aeropile side-slipped, met the earth
with a long grinding noise that drowned out the
shouts of the vast numl>er of the people of Lon-
don-: — a soft pleading voice, such a voice as only
an angel could possess, caught his ear. Surely this
must be heaven, his heaven, the heaven where all
were equal. The heaven which should have been
his many years before. Graham also heard a ter-
rific shouting about him, probably the cries of the
lost souls, now in the hands of Satan.

Slowly Graham opened his eyes, expecting to
face his master, the Lord, to he judged as the
Ijyrd saw fit — to he saved and meet his old com-
railes, or to be damned and again go through a
bell such as he had just left.

But lo — there stood Helen, his Helen, wonder-
ful creature, the crowd roared, but Helen heard
not. Her arms were clasped around his neck, her
lip^ soft and full met his, and stayed there.

Certainly two hundred years had not stamped
its mark on love, for Cupid still roamed and ruled
the hearts of the people of the world.

His people could have his wealth, bis title
of master and even the whole world, but Helen was
his forever.”

THE ENP.

P. S. I might just as well say, “Came dawn,”
and get it all out of my system.

You folks may have a hearty laugh at my ex-
pense, but don’t you think this would have been a
more suitable ending? I do.

John G. Roche,

11 Cornelius Ave., Schenectady, N. Y.

FThis ending of Mr. Wells* story speaks for
itself. We wonder what Mr. Wells will think
when he reads it. — EDITOR.]

FRIENDLY CRITICISM FROM BRA2IL

Editor, Amazing Stories:

I have been reading Amazing Stories whenever
I could obtain a copy ever since its debut. There
has never been a story that I did not thoroughly
enjoy, although some 1 did not like as well as
others. I can find no fault with the authors and,
to my mind, the people who start picking flaws in
the stories are like those people we all know that
seem to visit picture houses for no other purpose
than to spoil the program for the other visitants,
by frequently exclaiming, “Oh, that is faked, a
double exposure. No, the airplane isn’t really
flying at all,” etc., etc. I think we all have suffi-
cient intelligence to realize these things, so why
spoil the picture by bringing them up? I do
not mean, of course, that errors in science should
go uncriticized, but it seems to me that the
majority of criticisms, so far, have been of little
importance, and were probably written by persons
without sufficient imagination to he able to visualize
the stories.

“Pollock and the Porroh Man” was a story I
would have expected to find in something like
“Weird Tales,” but nevertheless I liked it all
right. It brings to my mind an occurrence in
Peru a few months ago. There live in the moun-
tains a race of Indians who, as part of their re-
ligion, preserve the heads of their dead by means
of a process of “curing” by heated pebbles. The
heads become greatly reduced in size during the
process and are, of course, sacred to the Indians.
A certain white man led an expedition to hunt
these heads, as they are very valuable. He dis-
appeared, and a month later the rest of the party
found his head in a shrunken state, evidently left
as a warning.

I have not been able to get all the numbers of
Amazing Stories. (It is on sale in Buenos Aires
and Rio de Janeiro, by the way) and those I could
get I would not keep, as others seemed to be
equally interested in Amazing Stories.

By the way, I enjoyed “The Invisible Man” very
much. There was a similar story printed in a well-
known magazine some time ago called “The In-
visible Professor.” It is written from a modern
view and if possible, I would like to read it again.

I like your discussions because there are some
good scientific arguments there.

J. A. Todhunter,

• Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

[All editors and authors in general, will make-
up their minds to stand criticism and must not
expect it to be always favorable or always just.
■V'ou are not the only one of our readers whose
friends borrow copies and fail to return them. —
Editor.]

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STORIES

192

AMAZING STORIES

May, 1929

IT’S SO EASY TO BUILD FROM THIS BOOK

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“Thar’s gold in them thar hills, Pardner,” and there is a wealth of information in this
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